Not my first rodeo

For regular visitors, this is mostly a revision of what you've already read. I'm back at work at the newspaper and wanted to catch my newspaper readers up on the last six weeks or so.

Going back to work is fraught with emotion. Any working parent knows the cycle: You're excited to get back into the land of grown-ups, where adult conversation is abundant and you can go to the restroom unaccompanied. And yet part of you yearns to be with your babies, spending the day all snuggled up together. Even if you're fortunate enough to have excellent child care (which I do - thanks Maria!), you're still anxious about the hours you spend away from your Bunny and CuddleBug (insert your child's sure-to-be-embarrassing-when-she's-16 nickname here).

I have no deep thoughts on the nature of being a working mother, other than it's been my norm since Evangeline was eight weeks old. It's what I have to do, so it's what I do. And I'm thankful that I have a job that I do love — it makes it much easier to leave these sweet faces each morning.

I’m convinced both my daughters will grow up to be journalists: They already know how to keep a deadline. 

Let’s back up six weeks to May 29. The Tuesday after Memorial Day and alumni reunion activities is traditionally a busy issue for the newspaper, and naturally, it was also my due date.

If you recall, I spent the month of May in a state of anticipation, expecting the birth of our second child any day. I left little undone at work each night, convinced I wouldn’t be back in the morning. And as the weeks of May passed, I grew increasingly impatient.

So on Memorial Day, Jim decided we needed to take matters into our own hands. We loaded up Evangeline and left to seek out the bumpiest gravel roads we could. Unfortunately for us, the county roads department does an excellent job and the roads we found were smoother than highways we’ve driven on in other states (Missouri, I’m looking at you).

Regardless, by the time I went to bed on Monday night, I suspected things were starting to happen. On Tuesday morning, I knew labor had started, but since my contractions were mild and still infrequent, I decided to head into work.

There is nothing quite like putting a newspaper together to keep your mind off impending labor. I worked happily through the morning, and by the time we finished the issue around 2 p.m., I figured it was time to go home.

My mother and Jim tolerated my puttering around the house until 5 p.m., when they started to insist it was time to leave.

“We’re going to the hospital,” they said. “What you do is up to you.”

We got to the hospital shortly after 6, and Brielle was born at 8:23 p.m. So maybe I did cut it a bit close ...

Despite her somewhat aggressive prenatal nickname — Stormageddon — Brielle is a relaxed, easy baby. She loves to cuddle and any crying is done only to alert me that it’s time to eat. And I have high hopes that her recent six-hour stretches of sleep through the night will become a regular habit.

Evangeline is largely indifferent to her new baby sister, although she enjoys playing with Brielle’s “beet” (feet).

The biggest surprise to me is how easy it was to transition from parenting one child to two. Granted, there are now two sets of diapers to change and two sleep schedules to balance, but mostly, it’s all familiar territory.

And that’s nice, because now I can focus on the fun stuff — snuggling with my little ladies, planning future tea parties and shopping trips, discovering their distinct personalities and quirks.

Don’t get me wrong: I know having two children under the age of two is full of all kinds of crazy. But it’s a good kind of crazy, and I’m loving (almost) every minute of it.

It’s not my first rodeo, after all.