A Princess Problem

When I was in college, there was always a moment near the end of a party where I felt my heart race, and I thought, "Just give me 15 more minutes. I should have danced. I should have sang Karaoke with the girls. Just give me 15 more minutes." The finale at my senior concert: "I should have played louder, sat up straighter, really felt the music. Just give me one more try." The ten minutes before the bar exam: "Just give me another hour. I promise I'll learn commercial paper."

I have two weeks of maternity leave left. That makes my heart race, and I'm searching for my 15 minutes. Fifteen minutes to play cars, to make cookies, to snuggle RJ with both arms (per his request), to rock my baby girl before she decides I'm just not cool anymore.

If you Google work-life balance, you'll find hundreds of pages. Advice. Commiseration. Stories. There are books devoted to the idea of balanced hours and part time plans for lawyers. They describe the plight of working moms as being torn, fragmented,  and mommy-tracked. I am all of those things. But in reality, I have a princess problem. (Princess problem: a problem affecting princesses--those of us who have everything we could possibly want and yet still have problems).

My parents told me that I could be anything I wanted to be. I believed them. For years, I was on a one-track path to becoming a Dallas Cowboys cheerleader and a veterinarian. Then, I realized that I'm not much of a dancer or a crowd pleaser. And I hate football. I still thought I would be a veterinarian. Until I observed cat surgery and found myself in the parking lot of the clinic hoping I wouldn't pass out in the driver's seat and further humiliate myself. Surgery is so gross! I veered left, changed my major to English and tried to figure out exactly what to do with an English degree.

I edited textbooks about cementing oil wells. I climbed on water trucks looking at a new borehole so that I could write a technical bulletin about it. I wrote user manuals for telemarketing software. I took the LSAT and surprised myself.

It's almost January 2012. Eight years ago when I started my job, I thought 2012 would never get here. I kind of sort of assumed I would either (1) be fired; (2) hate the practice of law; or (3) find myself at another firm. I surprised myself again. I (1) haven't been fired; (2) love the practice of law; and (3) find myself happy at the same firm eight years later.

I'm not a Dallas Cowboys cheerleader. I'm not a veterinarian. Things changed. I'm happy about that. Eight years ago, I billed 1907 hours in a year. I spent New Year's Eve in a hotel room billing a final 4 hours on a document review. Just because I could. Things have changed:

I have a princess problem. I don't have to search for evening childcare while I run the checkout stand at the grocery store. I don't have to worry that whether my car will start in the morning or whether I have enough Huggies to make it to the end of the month. I have good childcare, and I have family who wants to help me.

Princess problem. Torn. Fragmented. Mommy-tracked. I want my 15 minutes to pick up RJ after school and hear about his day. I want my 15 minutes to rock GiGi to sleep. I want to be a good lawyer. I want to be a good mother. I'm just not sure where the intersection is located. I need a map. I've tried to find one. There is no GPS, and so far, Magellen hasn't mapped this part of the world.

I've learned my lesson. The party hasn't ended, and we haven't sung the final song. I'm enjoying my last two weeks of leave. I'm taking my 15 minutes (thus the limited posts lately). And, in the meantime, I'm searching for the magic pixie dust to fix my princess problem.

P.S.

When I start to feel too sad, I remember that during this photo shoot, RJ repeatedly tried to smack GiGi over the head with a plastic bat. I was too sleep deprived to wipe the smile off my face and send him to timeout.