Not So Much

In case you were wondering, I have not yet found the holy grail to efficiency in my work day. I arrived in Lexington, KY, after working all day, only to work all night. After my meeting tomorrow, I'm flying to Charlotte where my husband will pick me up en route to PA, so I can attempt some semblance of a vacation next week. No, I've definitely not uncovered the answer.

And sadly, my quest shall have to wait. Allow me to give you some perspective. I had a local meeting request for pretty much anytime in August today, and I had to say no. Not because I was attempting balance, but because I actually have zero availability. Zero. Every single work day in August is scheduled to the hilt. I'm either on a plane or at a local meeting, and I cannot recall another time in my career where this has happened.

But there is light at the end of this eight-week tunnel. No more travel for at least 6 months after September 23 thanks to this little man growing inside of me. As well as a day off (Labor Day), and a new couch that will complete the nap trap in my living room. This is what keeps me going.

Until then, I'm going to have to grin and bear it (as a Delta Member Services rep told me the other day in regard to the fact that they ripped me of my status because I changed my name and they're administrative processes are archaic -- sorry, another post for another day) and do what I can to maintain my sanity and well being.

Sigh.

Ringling's Got Nothing on Me

One day, when my child asks me what I do for a living I am going to tell him that I am a Ring Master. Because managing three rings of activity is what I do all day long. I manage up, I manage down, and I manage out. Not to mention the circus animals.

At the highest level, I love my job. Because what I do keeps people employed, makes companies productive, and is a win-win for everyone involved. I'm a "subject-matter expert" who helps clients do the right thing. And I'm good at it. Really good. Which is why I want to keep doing it. Not for a second have I ever believed I'd be a stay at home mom.

But being a Ring Master requires a lot of stamina...juggling priorities, running from meeting to meeting, mentoring teams, multi-tasking to a fault, firefighting, and seeing more planes than anyone other than a flight attendant should in a 30-day period. You have to be a hell of a whip cracker. And understand that 9-5 is a rough guideline, at best.

Which is all fine and dandy. When you're 24. My track record will clearly demonstrate that I am not afraid of hard work. But lately, come Friday night I am incapable of anything requiring any level of thought or skill. No exaggeration, I can often barely speak. So I got to wondering, has it always been like this, or have things just gotten crazy? Or, has my pregnancy changed my perspective?

It made me think, REALLY think, about what I actually DO, and I've come to the conclusion that there's a lot of "interference" and "filler" in my day. Most importantly, filler and interference that does not need to be there. If I could cut the stupid, I'm certain I could maintain some semblance of normal hours and deliver a higher quality product to more customers. Which in turn means, you got it...more business.

There has got to be a better way to do this. And I am determined to define it. It's very clear that if it is to be it is up to me. So in true Courtney nature I will create more work for myself in this quest, but hopefully reach an outcome that makes it a little bit easier for all of us so we can focus on the challenges that really matter. And get shit done. More shit.

I'm tired of being tired. And I cannot imagine for a fraction of a second pulling this off when my baby boy arrives. Something has got to give.

Time to get those animals back in the cages.

Resting State

As a result of what is known as "round ligament" pain, I am resting today. I was never taught this skill, and therefore am not very good at it. I look around and see a million different things I could be doing (windows, floors, lining dresser drawers, cleaning out cabinets, re-painting the coffee table) and can't.

So, I shop. Online. Which is incredibly dangerous because it's so damn easy.

We decided to re-do our living room. Our couch is 10+ years old and while it still looks awesome, I'm certain it's destroying our backs. Seeing as we plan (will be forced) to spend a lot of time at home after December, we decided it was worth the investment to upgrade our furniture.

I hate spending money. Especially on large purchases. I agonized for weeks over the couch. It's ridiculous, until you realize that I am still under the impression that my financial situation is the same as 21-year old Courtney who bounced checks to get cash and strategically planned which bills could be skipped each month. I am so terrified of ever being in that position again that spending money paralyzes me with fear.

I hope I can stop resting soon. It gives me anxiety.

The Laws of Opposite

Question: What goes up and down and round and round?

Answer: Life (and you thought I was going to say merry-go-round)

Not to get too philosophical people, but it's very true that we live in a world of cycles. My husband is thrilled to see me write this, as he's been extolling this truth since 2005. One day you're down, the next day you're up...and repeat.  

Case in point: Tuesday sucked. On Amazonian levels. Work was stupid complicated, I felt like my belly was being ripped in half, and I was exhausted. Today? Work was ah-mazing, my belly is cute, but I am still exhausted. You can't have everything (another truth). 

I am told my Nana used to say, "this too shall pass, dear" and I have to agree with her. Bad or good, everything is temporary and runs it's cycle. I am beginning to think the key to happiness is embracing this perspective. Not that it's easy. By the time you're my age you are pre-conditioned to react in certain ways and it is no small task to teach an old dogs new tricks (NOT a truth). But it can be done.  

Armed with this perspective, it's amazing how the bad becomes just a little more tolerable and the good that much better. I have been through hell and back throughout my life, and will of course repeat this in future years (see, I am not delusional)...but this time I'm prepared. 

Murphy's got nothing on me. 

It's a Boy! Oh boy.

I've had several premonitions (yes, you read that right), even years before I was pregnant, that Scott and I were going to have a little lady. When I learned we were expecting, I just assumed it was a girl. I had her name, nursery theme, arguments for why I'm right, and her life plan through her mid-thirties all worked out.

And then it was a boy.

Blue. That's about all that came to mind. And the fact that we don't have to fund a wedding. You could say I wasn't mentally prepared for a little dude. What do we name him? How do we decorate? What am I going to DO with a little boy? 

Despite being terrified of him and his little penis, I am completely smitten. I've seen him a million times, and I'm already dreading the day when he's no longer a mama's boy. I've heard little boys love their Mommy's, and I'm looking very forward to being the first girl he falls in love with...the feeling is mutual, little man.


But that's tomorrow. Today, we must name him. Boys? I got nothing. My husband claims I have too many associations with boy's names that rule out many otherwise excellent selections. What can I say, I was greatly affected by the men who have passed through my life. Or I'm just a reformed slut. Don't judge.


Then there's the nursery. I immediately went the route of blue with a primary color scheme, and just as quickly decided I don't want a box of crayolas throwing up anywhere in my house. So, I'm working with a yellow to create something spectacular that doesn't imply he could go either way. That's for him to decide, not my decorating skills. 

The rest will have to come in time as I get to know my little guy, and learn the ways of mothering. While it's not what I expected, I couldn't have it any other way. He's my shining light, the sweet baby boy who keeps me company all day, and I can't wait to meet him.


And, of course, for the day he reads this and is mortified by me, his mother.

Who's That Girl

I've spent my entire life stubbornly and to a fault taking care of myself. If it is to be it is up to me, the ten most important two-letter words. I've exploited what it means to be a Type-A personality. Always in control, always calling the shots, always following the plan (mine, of course).

Until now. Enter my alter-ego. I didn't plan it, I didn't think about it, it just...happened.

Plan? What plan? It's like my pregnancy is happening to someone else, it's fuzzy and I can't seem to recognize that I need to prepare for this life-altering event. Independent? Forget about it. Ask my husband, forced to be my personal butler and having to make every decision because I've forgotten how to do that. He's currently in Mexico, and I am lost. I hate him for this (despite knowing it's wrong to begrudge him this guy time).

My confirmation that this is really happening? I haven't cleaned my house in weeks. Weeks. Scott's been helping out, but former Courtney would be spending this solo Saturday doing it her way to ensure everything is sparkling clean. Nope. This Courtney is wandering aimlessly around the house because she can't decide what to do today. I haven't even picked up my breakfast dishes yet.

On the positive side, I am noticeably more relaxed. I may even go so far as to say I'm "unaffected". By anything. With one exception. Work. Fewer things ruffle my feathers, but I've otherwise seemed to maintain my former self. It takes more effort these days, which might explain why the peversely opposite is occuring in my personal life, but I'm still exploring that theory.

I don't know this person, and frankly she frightens me. Is this my body's natural response to calming the crazy while carrying our child? I sure hope so, because I can't stand myself some days.

The days I bother to care, of course.

Memories Echo

I was born with a congenital heart defect commonly known as VSD. It means there was a hole in it. My ticker fixed itself spontaneously before I turned 10 (although I don't quite know when, something I probably should), and I went on to live a pretty normal life. Physically speaking.

In my early years, I endured endless echocardiograms over what seemed like centuries. An evil crushing wand held by a tech wearing too much Charlie, skating across my tiny breastbone (with no padding at that point I might add), taking pictures of my broken heart. You do know that 20 minutes is a lifetime to a 4 year-old. It was intolerable.

Being pregnant, I'm once again under a cardiologist's care. Who knew your blood volume increases 40-50% during pregnancy and your heart works twice as hard? I always thought the potential issue would be delivery and the stress it may put on my heart -- not my first trimester. You can imagine my disappointment in being told they prefer natural delivery for people with my condition. I had always assumed I would have a C-section. No painfully waiting, panting or pushing. Scheduled and surprise -- baby! Not so much. I was misinformed.

Since it had been awhile, I was sent for another echo to rule out any stenosis and aortic stretching (if you look it up, I'm told it's not likely, so don't freak out). This appointment was the closest thing I've experienced to time travel. As soon, and I mean immediately, as she put that wand on my chest the intense need to get up and get it OFF of me was present. I lay twitching like a patient with a severe case of Tourette's. Mind you, this isn't a painful procedure, most people probably nap. But impressions formed as a child are ever-present, especially in those 20 minutes. It was, again, intolerable.

Ever seen your heart? It's the ugliest, scariest looking little machine...and yet beautiful and amazing at the same time. I can't for the life of me understand how it just keeps pumping. We are truly miracles, every one of us. And tomorrow I'll find out how fit my miracle is for pregnancy.