We have this friend, D, who has been friends with S since they were in high school. D is an odd mix of hyper-sensitive about protocol and yet clueless about a wide array of social norms. His wedding, for example, was the most intricately formal affair that I have ever been to, carefully choreographed (by him, not his wife) to keep Emily Post perfectly happy. He is still humbly apologizing for something that he did to me, by accident, more than eight years ago, something that I laughed about at the time and was never upset about, and for which I keep kindly telling him that he really doesn't need to be concerned anymore. He has spent holidays with S's extended family, and interrogates us carefully about the preferences of various members of the family, so that he can be careful not to offend.
And yet this same guy regularly invites himself over to our house for dinner, whenever his wife is out of town, by explaining to us that he would like me to cook dinner for him because he cannot fend for himself. And he is constantly explaining to us how brilliant his son his, especially compared to most normal children (like LL). He even makes his son put on little "shows" for us, to display how much he knows. It is ... weird.
We recently went to a birthday party for D's son, who turned four. We bought him a small gift (Lego cars!), LL happily handed it to him, and he immediately ripped it open. And then declared loudly that he didn't like it, before tossing it aside and running off. D was absolutely mortified. He kept apologizing for his son's behavior, throughout the evening. Bizarrely, he never actually corrected his son, or encouraged his son to behave differently; he just kept apologizing to us.
But, whatever. The kid is four. I wouldn't be shocked to see any four-year-old behave like that on occasion, I've seen much worse from this one, and I've seen similar behavior from D, so I wasn't exactly surprised, and I didn't particularly care.
Fast-forward to today. We received, right on time, a nice thank-you note from D's son, hand-written by D. Here is the card, verbatim:
"Thank you very much for the Legos. While I rudely said, "I don't like it," my attitude changed dramatically when it was exchanged for nerf guns."
So... I laughed out loud. Because it is so typical of D -- he did the appropriate thing and sent a note, but the note itself expresses what a horrible gift it was, until it was exchanged for something much better. And on the one hand, I guess I'm glad that they were able to get the kid something that he wanted (that is, after all, why I carefully included a gift receipt in the birthday card). On the other hand... is it normal to tell a gift-giver that you exchanged their gift? I would think not. And certainly not in a way that makes it obvious that you hated the original gift. (Surely there are more tactful ways of mentioning it, if you feel the need.)
But now I'm actually torn about what you should say in a thank-you note when you didn't actually want the gift. I mean, that note is obviously not it, but what is the right thing to do?
Showing posts with label other people. Show all posts
Showing posts with label other people. Show all posts
Tuesday, November 1, 2011
Sunday, October 30, 2011
Stupid Quote of the Year
I was at a baby shower recently and I ended up sitting next to the aunt of the mother-to-be. She works in public relations, and she seemed convinced that her role as a public relations person made her an expert in every single policy issue and social issue to ever be publicly discussed. Rarely have I been near someone who spouted such a continuous string of stupid comments. Stupid and insulting and false and annoying. But she was the aunt of the pregnant woman, and everyone other than me seemed to be totally enthralled with her, so I was reluctant to make too much of a scene by telling her she was full of it. And holy cow, this woman just went on and on and on.
Spout off about the horrors of bottle feeding, then roll your eyes and nod your head towards the woman sitting right next to you who was actually bottle-feeding her child during the entire conversation? Yeah, that's nice. Explain that obesity is entirely a result of the fact that fat people are also ignorant? Interesting. Complain that all (yes all) working mothers like to pawn their kids off on other people so that they can spend more time drinking lattes at the gym? I didn't know that people drank lattes at gyms, but that one is especially great to say in front of a pregnant woman who plans on going back to work after her baby is born.
But my very favorite opinion of hers is one that I remember verbatim. Mostly because dead children so rarely comes up in conversation at baby showers:
"The worst thing in the world is losing a child. Losing a child is really awful. But there is something that is just as bad as a child dying: a child who disowns his parents. This happens all the time to the parents who put too much pressure on their kids. Harvard and Yale are full of kids who hate their parents. Those parents suffer just as much as parents of children who died."
There you have it. If your kid goes to Harvard, it's exactly the same as if your child died. You heard it here first.
Spout off about the horrors of bottle feeding, then roll your eyes and nod your head towards the woman sitting right next to you who was actually bottle-feeding her child during the entire conversation? Yeah, that's nice. Explain that obesity is entirely a result of the fact that fat people are also ignorant? Interesting. Complain that all (yes all) working mothers like to pawn their kids off on other people so that they can spend more time drinking lattes at the gym? I didn't know that people drank lattes at gyms, but that one is especially great to say in front of a pregnant woman who plans on going back to work after her baby is born.
But my very favorite opinion of hers is one that I remember verbatim. Mostly because dead children so rarely comes up in conversation at baby showers:
"The worst thing in the world is losing a child. Losing a child is really awful. But there is something that is just as bad as a child dying: a child who disowns his parents. This happens all the time to the parents who put too much pressure on their kids. Harvard and Yale are full of kids who hate their parents. Those parents suffer just as much as parents of children who died."
There you have it. If your kid goes to Harvard, it's exactly the same as if your child died. You heard it here first.
Tuesday, April 12, 2011
Dr. Mommy
At the end of December, I gave a quick update on the state of my PhD. At the time, two of my three committee members had agreed to sign my dissertation, while the third (AdvisorA) was refusing to acknowledge that I'd even sent it to her. I gave her one more month to get back to me (also, I had a newborn and wasn't really in the mood to deal with her) and then, in early February, I started bugging her by email. And bugging her and bugging her. She kept telling me that yes, she had edits, but no, they weren't ready yet, and no, she wouldn't be signing until after she was done requesting changes. And then she kept putting off sending me anything. After much back and forth, she finally finally finally sent me a bunch of requested edits at the end of February. And yes, that means that I was editing my dissertation while caring for a six-week-old infant. Fun times! The first week of March, she finally sent me her signature on the final signature form. Which gave me one week to run around campus with Kermit getting the other two committee members to sign the form, doing final changes, doing the format check with the Registrar's office, and turning the whole thing in before the Winter deadline.
One random observation: when you do all this final PhD work while toting a baby who is not quite two months old, just about everybody you interact with comments on it, saying something like, "Really, you're doing all this dissertation work with a newborn?!?" Don't feel too proud of yourself, though. Yes, approximately two-thirds of those people will mean, "Wow, it's really impressive that you're finishing up heavy duty graduate work while also caring for a newborn!" But the other third of the people will actually mean, "Wow, it's really sad that you're neglecting a newborn just to do some graduate work before some arbitrary deadline." Those last third of the people will look sorrowfully at the baby and ask if maybe you shouldn't be going home and doing this PhD hobby of yours at a different time. (One of the women in the Registrar's office explicitly told me that perhaps I should come back in another few weeks, and I pointed out to her that I was there to meet her office's deadline, and she just shrugged.)
But, here's the good news: Everybody on the committee signed my dissertation. All forms and documents were turned into the university. The university accepted everything, and last week, officially conferred the degree. I am now Dr. Nicky. Mommy, PhD.
The job hunt is officially on hold, because I want to stay home with Kermit for a while longer. On good days, I tell people that I am now Dr. Stay-At-Home-Mom. On bad days, I just tell people that I'm unemployed. But either way, grad school is now mercifully over. For now, I'll be sticking with Dr. Mommy.
One random observation: when you do all this final PhD work while toting a baby who is not quite two months old, just about everybody you interact with comments on it, saying something like, "Really, you're doing all this dissertation work with a newborn?!?" Don't feel too proud of yourself, though. Yes, approximately two-thirds of those people will mean, "Wow, it's really impressive that you're finishing up heavy duty graduate work while also caring for a newborn!" But the other third of the people will actually mean, "Wow, it's really sad that you're neglecting a newborn just to do some graduate work before some arbitrary deadline." Those last third of the people will look sorrowfully at the baby and ask if maybe you shouldn't be going home and doing this PhD hobby of yours at a different time. (One of the women in the Registrar's office explicitly told me that perhaps I should come back in another few weeks, and I pointed out to her that I was there to meet her office's deadline, and she just shrugged.)
But, here's the good news: Everybody on the committee signed my dissertation. All forms and documents were turned into the university. The university accepted everything, and last week, officially conferred the degree. I am now Dr. Nicky. Mommy, PhD.
The job hunt is officially on hold, because I want to stay home with Kermit for a while longer. On good days, I tell people that I am now Dr. Stay-At-Home-Mom. On bad days, I just tell people that I'm unemployed. But either way, grad school is now mercifully over. For now, I'll be sticking with Dr. Mommy.
Thursday, April 7, 2011
Family Resemblance
Background information: I'm Eastern European Jewish. Pale skin, green eyes, dark brown curly hair. S is Japanese. Fairly light skin, dark olive-shaped eyes, black curly hair. Yes, he's 100% Japanese and he has curly hair. It's rare but it happens. Relatives on both sides of his family have wavy hair, but if there were a contest for curliest natural hair on a Japanese person, he would win.
One of the fun things to do when a baby is born is to play the "Who does he look like?" game. This game gets a little more complicated, however, when the parents are of different racial backgrounds. S and I have always said that LL just looks like himself. Yes, we can see tiny pieces of each of us in him (for example, he most definitely has my chin, poor kid!) but he doesn't truly look like either one of us. When he was a baby, however, S's family insisted that LL looked like me. When I finally asked some of them what specifically made him look like me, they universally answered that he looked white. (And apparently all white babies look like me....)
It's not uncommon for children of mixed race backgrounds to look more like one race than the other, and we've even seen full siblings who look like they are from completely different racial backgrounds, simply because they inherited specific features from mom vs. dad. So we were curious about who Kermit would look like.
Now that we've visited S's family, the verdict (from them) is in. In the words of one of S's aunts, "At least this one looks Asian!" They insisted that Kermit looks Japanese, with the undertones of "thank goodness!"
Okay, that's all very interesting. But here's the kicker: Kermit looks exactly like LL did as an infant! Seriously, you take photos of each of them at the same age, and I can barely tell them apart. We made a stack of photos of Kermit and intermixed them with a bunch of photos of LL at the same age, and nobody can reliably tell us which are Kermit and which are LL. In fact, when people struggle to find differences between them, the only reliable indicator that we've found is that Kermit's skin is actually more pale than LL's was at this age.
S and I have chalked it up to a case of people seeing what they want to see. We've also done a lot of joking about how S doesn't need to worry about the paternity of the kids -- if there was a mixup with the sperm at the fertility clinic, they must have made the exact same mistake the second time, too, because LL and Kermit obviously have the same parents.
I'll also note that most people truly don't think that LL is Asian at all. I think the mass of curly hair throws them off. And when I was out with Kermit today, someone asked if my husband was Mexican, and insisted that the baby looks Hispanic. So perhaps my kids just look vaguely exotic, in an indistinguishable way? Welcome to the modern post-racial world!
Looking at photos of LL from his first year, his face changed a lot over those twelve months, so we know that it's likely that Kermit will change in different ways and end up looking completely different from his brother. But for now, whenever anyone asks me and S who we think Kermit looks like, we just say that he looks like LL.
One of the fun things to do when a baby is born is to play the "Who does he look like?" game. This game gets a little more complicated, however, when the parents are of different racial backgrounds. S and I have always said that LL just looks like himself. Yes, we can see tiny pieces of each of us in him (for example, he most definitely has my chin, poor kid!) but he doesn't truly look like either one of us. When he was a baby, however, S's family insisted that LL looked like me. When I finally asked some of them what specifically made him look like me, they universally answered that he looked white. (And apparently all white babies look like me....)
It's not uncommon for children of mixed race backgrounds to look more like one race than the other, and we've even seen full siblings who look like they are from completely different racial backgrounds, simply because they inherited specific features from mom vs. dad. So we were curious about who Kermit would look like.
Now that we've visited S's family, the verdict (from them) is in. In the words of one of S's aunts, "At least this one looks Asian!" They insisted that Kermit looks Japanese, with the undertones of "thank goodness!"
Okay, that's all very interesting. But here's the kicker: Kermit looks exactly like LL did as an infant! Seriously, you take photos of each of them at the same age, and I can barely tell them apart. We made a stack of photos of Kermit and intermixed them with a bunch of photos of LL at the same age, and nobody can reliably tell us which are Kermit and which are LL. In fact, when people struggle to find differences between them, the only reliable indicator that we've found is that Kermit's skin is actually more pale than LL's was at this age.
S and I have chalked it up to a case of people seeing what they want to see. We've also done a lot of joking about how S doesn't need to worry about the paternity of the kids -- if there was a mixup with the sperm at the fertility clinic, they must have made the exact same mistake the second time, too, because LL and Kermit obviously have the same parents.
I'll also note that most people truly don't think that LL is Asian at all. I think the mass of curly hair throws them off. And when I was out with Kermit today, someone asked if my husband was Mexican, and insisted that the baby looks Hispanic. So perhaps my kids just look vaguely exotic, in an indistinguishable way? Welcome to the modern post-racial world!
Looking at photos of LL from his first year, his face changed a lot over those twelve months, so we know that it's likely that Kermit will change in different ways and end up looking completely different from his brother. But for now, whenever anyone asks me and S who we think Kermit looks like, we just say that he looks like LL.
Monday, November 29, 2010
Constraint Satisfaction
Several weeks ago, I wrote another in a series of agonizing posts
about trying to find a name for Kermit. At the time, we had it narrowed down to five possibilities, and I was desperate to narrow it down more than that, and soon. After much more deliberation with S, we decided to just pick the front runner and treat it like a done deal. Assume that's the name, start using it around the house, kick the tires a bit and see how it feels.
There's a certain relief that comes with feeling like a decision has been made, even if we can still change our minds many many times between now and Kermit's arrival. The name that we picked has grown on me more and more, and at this point, I'm fairly happy with it. S wants to kick it around a bit more before he declares it "the name," but says that if Kermit were born today, he'd be happy with it. For now, that's good enough for me. We probably have several more weeks to decide for sure anyway.
Two months ago, when we took LL for his two-year checkup, we informed our wonderful pediatrician, Dr. K, that she would soon be acquiring a new patient. She was very happy for us, and asked if she could help in any way. I was mostly joking, but I asked her if she'd heard any cool baby names recently that she thought we'd like. I figured, who better to have the pulse of local baby naming trends than a pediatrician with a growing practice? Her whole face lit up and she said, "Ooooh, I love helping with names! Any name requirements that I should know about?" We briefly outlined our constraints for her, and she said that she'd give it some thought and get back to us.
Fast forward to this morning, when I left a phone message for Dr. K about some minor tummy trouble that LL's been experiencing for the past week, just to make sure that we're "treating" it correctly at home. When she called me back, she said, "I'll talk to you about LL in a minute, but I've been meaning to call you about names! I've thought a lot about it, and I have the perfect name for you guys!" And then she said the exact name that S and I had already decided on.
After a short stunned silence, I just said, "You're kidding!" which she took to mean that I hated the name and was disappointed in her. She explained to me that she thought it was just so perfect, given our constraints, and it worked with LL's name, and she liked how it sounded with our last name. And she said that she normally puts together a list of 5-10 names for people, but with us, she hit on just this one name and thought that it worked so well that she just had to tell me.
And then I had to tell her that she was creeping me out, because that was the name that we had all but decided on. What are the odds that she'd pick the exact same one? (For the record, this is not a common name, or a trendy name; it's not like she picked the #1 most popular name, or #1 fastest growing name, or anything like that. It seems to me to be very random that we came up with the exact same name.) And she laughed, and then said very seriously that she is quite good at naming babies.
I've mentioned the name to a very small number of other people in the last few weeks, but I hardly expect people to really give an expectant mother an honest opinion on this sort of thing -- unless the person visibly cringes when you tell them, it's hard to judge whether they liked it or are just being polite. But getting the impartial out-of-the-blue recommendation from Dr. K feels like real third-party confirmation that this name works. Silly but true. And despite my contrarian reputation, that makes me like it even more.
I suppose it is possible that our constraints are very, um, constraining. But I do not believe that they are soooooo constraining that, given a list of every possible name in the world, they narrow the set down to a unique single possibility. But apparently they do. Who knew? And now we are officially barred from ever having another son, because there isn't a single name left that he could use. We've apparently already chosen the only name that works.
about trying to find a name for Kermit. At the time, we had it narrowed down to five possibilities, and I was desperate to narrow it down more than that, and soon. After much more deliberation with S, we decided to just pick the front runner and treat it like a done deal. Assume that's the name, start using it around the house, kick the tires a bit and see how it feels.
There's a certain relief that comes with feeling like a decision has been made, even if we can still change our minds many many times between now and Kermit's arrival. The name that we picked has grown on me more and more, and at this point, I'm fairly happy with it. S wants to kick it around a bit more before he declares it "the name," but says that if Kermit were born today, he'd be happy with it. For now, that's good enough for me. We probably have several more weeks to decide for sure anyway.
Two months ago, when we took LL for his two-year checkup, we informed our wonderful pediatrician, Dr. K, that she would soon be acquiring a new patient. She was very happy for us, and asked if she could help in any way. I was mostly joking, but I asked her if she'd heard any cool baby names recently that she thought we'd like. I figured, who better to have the pulse of local baby naming trends than a pediatrician with a growing practice? Her whole face lit up and she said, "Ooooh, I love helping with names! Any name requirements that I should know about?" We briefly outlined our constraints for her, and she said that she'd give it some thought and get back to us.
Fast forward to this morning, when I left a phone message for Dr. K about some minor tummy trouble that LL's been experiencing for the past week, just to make sure that we're "treating" it correctly at home. When she called me back, she said, "I'll talk to you about LL in a minute, but I've been meaning to call you about names! I've thought a lot about it, and I have the perfect name for you guys!" And then she said the exact name that S and I had already decided on.
After a short stunned silence, I just said, "You're kidding!" which she took to mean that I hated the name and was disappointed in her. She explained to me that she thought it was just so perfect, given our constraints, and it worked with LL's name, and she liked how it sounded with our last name. And she said that she normally puts together a list of 5-10 names for people, but with us, she hit on just this one name and thought that it worked so well that she just had to tell me.
And then I had to tell her that she was creeping me out, because that was the name that we had all but decided on. What are the odds that she'd pick the exact same one? (For the record, this is not a common name, or a trendy name; it's not like she picked the #1 most popular name, or #1 fastest growing name, or anything like that. It seems to me to be very random that we came up with the exact same name.) And she laughed, and then said very seriously that she is quite good at naming babies.
I've mentioned the name to a very small number of other people in the last few weeks, but I hardly expect people to really give an expectant mother an honest opinion on this sort of thing -- unless the person visibly cringes when you tell them, it's hard to judge whether they liked it or are just being polite. But getting the impartial out-of-the-blue recommendation from Dr. K feels like real third-party confirmation that this name works. Silly but true. And despite my contrarian reputation, that makes me like it even more.
I suppose it is possible that our constraints are very, um, constraining. But I do not believe that they are soooooo constraining that, given a list of every possible name in the world, they narrow the set down to a unique single possibility. But apparently they do. Who knew? And now we are officially barred from ever having another son, because there isn't a single name left that he could use. We've apparently already chosen the only name that works.
Monday, November 22, 2010
Time Off
I expected that interviewing for jobs while heavily pregnant would be an odd experience. Pregnancy is one of those protected classifications that isn't allowed to be factored into hiring decisions. I've been on the other side of interviews for several companies, and all of these companies had policies that prohibited us from discussing any of those protected classifications. You can't ask somebody about their family, or whether they're married or have kids, just like you can't ask them about their religion or comment on their gender. And if the job candidate volunteered some bit of information that we weren't supposed to discuss, we were instructed to ignore it and immediately change the subject.
Pregnancy is an odd case, though, because it does have a large (albeit short-term) impact on job performance, and it's such a giant obvious elephant in the room. The interviewer is looking at someone who quite clearly will need some extended time off from work in the near future, but isn't allowed to mention it. And the pregnant woman can't bring it up herself, because an ethical interviewer would stop her before she could say anything meaningful about it. Several people advised me that I should bring it up during my interview, so that I could reassure my potential future manager that I do plan to work after the baby is born, but I remember from my training that my potential future manager would then be put in the awkward situation of needing to stop me from talking about it. So I decided best not to bring it up, so that I wouldn't force him into a situation that he didn't want to be in.
Thus, while interviewing for jobs over the last several weeks, I expected to have lots of pseudo-conversations where people fished for information and I tried to reassure them without either of us saying anything explicit. Which is fine with me, even if it feels odd. You do what you have to do.
What I did not expect was that nobody would notice that I'm pregnant.
S thinks they noticed but didn't say anything. But in the last month, I've been interviewed by more than two dozen different people, and I can count on one hand the number of them that glanced knowingly at my stomach or gave some other indication that they figured it out. I simply don't believe that the rest of them are good enough actors to hide that they had noticed. On the other hand, I had variations on this conversation with more than half of the interviewers:
Interviewer: So, you're planning to graduate in January?
Me: Yes, that's right.
Interviewer: But you don't want to start working until June?
Me, looking pointedly down at my pregnant stomach: Um, yes, June.
Interviewer: Time off sounds like a great reward for finishing grad school! Are you planning to just relax? Travel? When I finished my PhD, I went to Paris.
Me, rubbing my stomach a bit: Um, no, no travel. I have, uh, family obligations to take care of.
Interviewer: Time with family can be fun, too! It's nice to be able to chill out like that for a while. Are you sure I can't get you some coffee?
Um. Really? You can't figure out on your own that I'm not flying to Europe in the near future? You can't fathom what I will be doing with my time off? I know that my field is known for a high level of socially clueless behavior, but still -- 7+ months pregnant!?! Open your eyes, people!
One interviewer (just one!) asked me more specifically what I was doing with my time off, and I mentioned that I was pregnant. And I only told her because I've known her for 10 years and I work with her husband and I was tired of playing games. And she acted startled and looked at my stomach and said, "Oh! Wow!" and was clearly surprised. (She then later asked me if I was finding it difficult to work out child care arrangements, which was her roundabout way of asking me if I was sure that I wanted to work after the baby was born. And I assured her that we had daycare all lined up, which was my roundabout way of saying yes, I'll definitely be going back to work.)
It was all very very odd. I'm still waiting to hear back about whether I get any job offers out of the experience, but I'm certainly glad that the interviewing is over for now! 33 weeks and counting....
Pregnancy is an odd case, though, because it does have a large (albeit short-term) impact on job performance, and it's such a giant obvious elephant in the room. The interviewer is looking at someone who quite clearly will need some extended time off from work in the near future, but isn't allowed to mention it. And the pregnant woman can't bring it up herself, because an ethical interviewer would stop her before she could say anything meaningful about it. Several people advised me that I should bring it up during my interview, so that I could reassure my potential future manager that I do plan to work after the baby is born, but I remember from my training that my potential future manager would then be put in the awkward situation of needing to stop me from talking about it. So I decided best not to bring it up, so that I wouldn't force him into a situation that he didn't want to be in.
Thus, while interviewing for jobs over the last several weeks, I expected to have lots of pseudo-conversations where people fished for information and I tried to reassure them without either of us saying anything explicit. Which is fine with me, even if it feels odd. You do what you have to do.
What I did not expect was that nobody would notice that I'm pregnant.
S thinks they noticed but didn't say anything. But in the last month, I've been interviewed by more than two dozen different people, and I can count on one hand the number of them that glanced knowingly at my stomach or gave some other indication that they figured it out. I simply don't believe that the rest of them are good enough actors to hide that they had noticed. On the other hand, I had variations on this conversation with more than half of the interviewers:
Interviewer: So, you're planning to graduate in January?
Me: Yes, that's right.
Interviewer: But you don't want to start working until June?
Me, looking pointedly down at my pregnant stomach: Um, yes, June.
Interviewer: Time off sounds like a great reward for finishing grad school! Are you planning to just relax? Travel? When I finished my PhD, I went to Paris.
Me, rubbing my stomach a bit: Um, no, no travel. I have, uh, family obligations to take care of.
Interviewer: Time with family can be fun, too! It's nice to be able to chill out like that for a while. Are you sure I can't get you some coffee?
Um. Really? You can't figure out on your own that I'm not flying to Europe in the near future? You can't fathom what I will be doing with my time off? I know that my field is known for a high level of socially clueless behavior, but still -- 7+ months pregnant!?! Open your eyes, people!
One interviewer (just one!) asked me more specifically what I was doing with my time off, and I mentioned that I was pregnant. And I only told her because I've known her for 10 years and I work with her husband and I was tired of playing games. And she acted startled and looked at my stomach and said, "Oh! Wow!" and was clearly surprised. (She then later asked me if I was finding it difficult to work out child care arrangements, which was her roundabout way of asking me if I was sure that I wanted to work after the baby was born. And I assured her that we had daycare all lined up, which was my roundabout way of saying yes, I'll definitely be going back to work.)
It was all very very odd. I'm still waiting to hear back about whether I get any job offers out of the experience, but I'm certainly glad that the interviewing is over for now! 33 weeks and counting....
Monday, August 9, 2010
Perspective
Alternate title for this post: "... In Which Nicky Learns (Again) that the World Does Not Revolve Around Her."
I agonized and agonized about when to tell AdvisorA about my pregnancy. I kind of didn't want to mention it to her until I had a job, lest she decide to tank my letters of recommendation. But I also didn't want her to find out from someone other than me, which would make things even worse. And once everyone at my university knew... well, it was just a matter of time. So I decided to just bite the bullet and tell her already.
I sent her an email, letting her know that I was pregnant. I re-worded the email several hundred times before finally sending it off last Monday. And I immediately regretted it, but there was nothing to do but wait.
And wait. And wait. And wait. Because she never wrote back.
I spent all week convinced that I had made a horrible mistake. And hating AdvisorA for whatever rationale she was possibly using to not respond. Maybe she was so angry that I was further ruining my career that she couldn't bring herself to respond? Maybe she was trying to decide whether to tell me outright about her plans to give me bad recommendations, or just do it quietly? Maybe she was so happy that my defense was over that she didn't feel the need to read anything from me ever again? Maybe she was busy plotting exactly how to ruin my life?
Because, you know, it's all about me. No other possible reason that she wouldn't have written back.
Yesterday, I found out that AdvisorA's mother died. She actually passed away two days after my defense. And she's been busy, you know, mourning and planning a funeral and stuff. Not really responding to email.
When I found out, I sent her an email with my condolences. (I'll send a card, too, but I wanted something to reach her as soon as possible.) And she wrote back, almost immediately. She thanked me for my note. And she told me that her mother's last "good" day was the day of my defense, and her mother was very happy for me and for AdvisorA that the defense went so well. And she told me that she had seen my email, and congratulations on my pregnancy. And it brought her a measure of happiness to know that life was going on. And she wishes that some of her mother's spirit will live on in my unborn child. And a friend of hers had a baby who was born around the time that her father died (many many years ago) and she's always doted on that child, as a way of remembering her father. And because of the timing, with my defense and my pregnancy announcement and her mother's death, she will always feel a special bond with my child as well.
Um. Yeah. You all know how up and down my relationship with AdvisorA has been, but this one really threw me for a loop. My next post will probably return to self-indulgences about dissertation writing and toddler temper tantrums and pregnancy complaints, but for now... yikes. I'm appropriately sad and chastised and grateful for everything that I have.
I agonized and agonized about when to tell AdvisorA about my pregnancy. I kind of didn't want to mention it to her until I had a job, lest she decide to tank my letters of recommendation. But I also didn't want her to find out from someone other than me, which would make things even worse. And once everyone at my university knew... well, it was just a matter of time. So I decided to just bite the bullet and tell her already.
I sent her an email, letting her know that I was pregnant. I re-worded the email several hundred times before finally sending it off last Monday. And I immediately regretted it, but there was nothing to do but wait.
And wait. And wait. And wait. Because she never wrote back.
I spent all week convinced that I had made a horrible mistake. And hating AdvisorA for whatever rationale she was possibly using to not respond. Maybe she was so angry that I was further ruining my career that she couldn't bring herself to respond? Maybe she was trying to decide whether to tell me outright about her plans to give me bad recommendations, or just do it quietly? Maybe she was so happy that my defense was over that she didn't feel the need to read anything from me ever again? Maybe she was busy plotting exactly how to ruin my life?
Because, you know, it's all about me. No other possible reason that she wouldn't have written back.
Yesterday, I found out that AdvisorA's mother died. She actually passed away two days after my defense. And she's been busy, you know, mourning and planning a funeral and stuff. Not really responding to email.
When I found out, I sent her an email with my condolences. (I'll send a card, too, but I wanted something to reach her as soon as possible.) And she wrote back, almost immediately. She thanked me for my note. And she told me that her mother's last "good" day was the day of my defense, and her mother was very happy for me and for AdvisorA that the defense went so well. And she told me that she had seen my email, and congratulations on my pregnancy. And it brought her a measure of happiness to know that life was going on. And she wishes that some of her mother's spirit will live on in my unborn child. And a friend of hers had a baby who was born around the time that her father died (many many years ago) and she's always doted on that child, as a way of remembering her father. And because of the timing, with my defense and my pregnancy announcement and her mother's death, she will always feel a special bond with my child as well.
Um. Yeah. You all know how up and down my relationship with AdvisorA has been, but this one really threw me for a loop. My next post will probably return to self-indulgences about dissertation writing and toddler temper tantrums and pregnancy complaints, but for now... yikes. I'm appropriately sad and chastised and grateful for everything that I have.
Thursday, July 1, 2010
Twelve Hours
I interrupt my incessant whining about the car accident and insurance and lawyers and gestational diabetes for an important announcement:
I hate graduate school.
Most people seem to have a love-hate relationship with graduate school. It is a long, exhausting process with many many ups and downs. Other than a few specific low points, I never minded graduate school all that much. I had lots of intellectual freedom; I had flexibility with how I used my time; I enjoyed bouncing ideas around with smart people; I found a great mentor in AdvisorB who appreciated my approach to science and who actually seeks out my opinion on research topics, even ones that are far outside my own dissertation area. Yes, working for below minimum wage for six years kind of sucks, but I kept my eye on the prize and never doubted that I would be able to graduate one day. There were definitely some aspects of graduate school (yes, I'm looking at you, ridiculous soul-sucking qualification exam!) that appeared to be more hazing ritual than actual educational necessity, but for the most part, I could see the value in most of what I was expected to do. And I believed that if I kept doing well at the things that mattered (research, papers, service to my lab, networking) everything would end up okay.
Then, almost exactly one year ago, I got to experience one of the truly ugly sides of academia. (Story starts here, and continues here.) Short version: AdvisorA cut off my funding when I returned from maternity leave because she didn't agree with my choice to have a child. My department helped me to find alternative funding (it helps that the department chair and financial manager are both working moms who were fairly outraged at AdvisorA's behavior) and life went on. Freed of her financial obligations to me, AdvisorA turned to passive benign neglect, not standing actively in my way but not responding to emails or questions, and making herself generally unavailable to me. That went on until a little over a month ago, when I pointed out to her that helping me to graduate would also get me permanently out of her hair. She was suddenly super supportive and helpful. Which kind of makes me hate her even more, but it does get me closer to graduating.
So, it's time to put together my dissertation defense committee, and pick a date for the actual defense. AdvisorB made it abundantly clear that he thinks it is absolutely vital that AdvisorA participate in person, which means finding a time when she can fly out here for a day. I gave her a three month window and asked her for dates when she could be here. She helpfully supplied me with one week. That's it. Five days when she's willing to be here, and no other times all summer. Armed with that single week, I went in search of two final orals committee members who were interested in my dissertation topic and available during that week. And it turns out that week sucks for most people. I had brainstormed lots of committee member options with AdvisorB, but I didn't find anyone who was available during that week until I got down to my sixth and seventh choices. But hey, they're warm bodies, we expect them to be supportive, so let's just go with it and schedule the defense! Between those two guys and the existing members of my reading committee, there was exactly one day when they're all free.
So, I innocently sent out an email to everyone saying, Here's the day! Do you guys want morning or afternoon? And everyone wanted the afternoon. Some of them had hard constraints limiting them to the afternoon. And that's when AdvisorA decided to join the conversation and insist on it happening in the morning. Why? Because if the defense is in the morning, she can fly back home that afternoon. But if the defense is in the afternoon, she'll have to spend the night and fly home in the morning. And she doesn't want to wait those extra twelve hours to get home.
In the last 24 hours, my committee members have exchanged nearly three dozen email messages trying to negotiate a time for my defense. (I'm staying out of it, because it does me absolutely no good at all to pick sides on this.) AdvisorB even found a flight that AdvisorA could take that evening so that she *would* be able to get home that night, but she's just ignoring his suggestion. It's ridiculous.
AdvisorB has been a professor for well over 30 years, and he says that he has never had this much trouble scheduling a defense, or seen an advisor being this much of a roadblock. He's planning informal meetings with each of my other committee members to bring them up to speed on the situation with AdvisorA, just in case she becomes a problem during the defense itself. But honestly, the entire committee has been witness to the email exchanges of the last 24 hours, so it should be fairly obvious to all of them that AdvisorA is a pain in the ass.
In the mean time, if they can't agree on a time, my defense will need to be pushed into the fall, which means staying in grad school for another semester. Which sucks. Not just because I have to be here for even longer, but also because it erases any hope of starting a job before my upcoming maternity leave. All because AdvisorA doesn't want to take a later flight.
I hate graduate school.
I hate graduate school.
Most people seem to have a love-hate relationship with graduate school. It is a long, exhausting process with many many ups and downs. Other than a few specific low points, I never minded graduate school all that much. I had lots of intellectual freedom; I had flexibility with how I used my time; I enjoyed bouncing ideas around with smart people; I found a great mentor in AdvisorB who appreciated my approach to science and who actually seeks out my opinion on research topics, even ones that are far outside my own dissertation area. Yes, working for below minimum wage for six years kind of sucks, but I kept my eye on the prize and never doubted that I would be able to graduate one day. There were definitely some aspects of graduate school (yes, I'm looking at you, ridiculous soul-sucking qualification exam!) that appeared to be more hazing ritual than actual educational necessity, but for the most part, I could see the value in most of what I was expected to do. And I believed that if I kept doing well at the things that mattered (research, papers, service to my lab, networking) everything would end up okay.
Then, almost exactly one year ago, I got to experience one of the truly ugly sides of academia. (Story starts here, and continues here.) Short version: AdvisorA cut off my funding when I returned from maternity leave because she didn't agree with my choice to have a child. My department helped me to find alternative funding (it helps that the department chair and financial manager are both working moms who were fairly outraged at AdvisorA's behavior) and life went on. Freed of her financial obligations to me, AdvisorA turned to passive benign neglect, not standing actively in my way but not responding to emails or questions, and making herself generally unavailable to me. That went on until a little over a month ago, when I pointed out to her that helping me to graduate would also get me permanently out of her hair. She was suddenly super supportive and helpful. Which kind of makes me hate her even more, but it does get me closer to graduating.
So, it's time to put together my dissertation defense committee, and pick a date for the actual defense. AdvisorB made it abundantly clear that he thinks it is absolutely vital that AdvisorA participate in person, which means finding a time when she can fly out here for a day. I gave her a three month window and asked her for dates when she could be here. She helpfully supplied me with one week. That's it. Five days when she's willing to be here, and no other times all summer. Armed with that single week, I went in search of two final orals committee members who were interested in my dissertation topic and available during that week. And it turns out that week sucks for most people. I had brainstormed lots of committee member options with AdvisorB, but I didn't find anyone who was available during that week until I got down to my sixth and seventh choices. But hey, they're warm bodies, we expect them to be supportive, so let's just go with it and schedule the defense! Between those two guys and the existing members of my reading committee, there was exactly one day when they're all free.
So, I innocently sent out an email to everyone saying, Here's the day! Do you guys want morning or afternoon? And everyone wanted the afternoon. Some of them had hard constraints limiting them to the afternoon. And that's when AdvisorA decided to join the conversation and insist on it happening in the morning. Why? Because if the defense is in the morning, she can fly back home that afternoon. But if the defense is in the afternoon, she'll have to spend the night and fly home in the morning. And she doesn't want to wait those extra twelve hours to get home.
In the last 24 hours, my committee members have exchanged nearly three dozen email messages trying to negotiate a time for my defense. (I'm staying out of it, because it does me absolutely no good at all to pick sides on this.) AdvisorB even found a flight that AdvisorA could take that evening so that she *would* be able to get home that night, but she's just ignoring his suggestion. It's ridiculous.
AdvisorB has been a professor for well over 30 years, and he says that he has never had this much trouble scheduling a defense, or seen an advisor being this much of a roadblock. He's planning informal meetings with each of my other committee members to bring them up to speed on the situation with AdvisorA, just in case she becomes a problem during the defense itself. But honestly, the entire committee has been witness to the email exchanges of the last 24 hours, so it should be fairly obvious to all of them that AdvisorA is a pain in the ass.
In the mean time, if they can't agree on a time, my defense will need to be pushed into the fall, which means staying in grad school for another semester. Which sucks. Not just because I have to be here for even longer, but also because it erases any hope of starting a job before my upcoming maternity leave. All because AdvisorA doesn't want to take a later flight.
I hate graduate school.
Thursday, June 17, 2010
More GD Frustration
I had my follow-up appointment with the nutritionist today, to see how I'm doing with the GD. What an unbelievably frustrating experience!
The whole appointment started off bad. I have a written log on which I'm supposed to write down everything I eat, and what my four-times-a-day glucose levels are. I dutifully filled in the entire log. The first thing the nurse did was take the log from me, then ask for my glucose monitor. The monitor has a memory function, which stores a month's worth of values. She then proceeded to go through all the numbers in the monitor to verify that I didn't lie on my written log. She did this for the entire week's worth of values. Then she eyed me suspiciously and asked if I was sure that all of my numbers were from my blood and not from somebody else in my household. Nothing quite like the feeling of knowing, without a doubt, that the person sitting across from you is convinced that you're a liar.
Then we had this conversation:
Nurse: Wow, your numbers look great!
Me: Thank you. Given my weird initial test results, and my low monitoring numbers, do you think it's possible that I don't have GD, maybe ease up on some of the restrictions a bit?
Nurse: No, you definitely have GD. Otherwise you wouldn't have failed the test.
Me: But, by the ADA criteria, I didn't fail the test. And my monitoring numbers kind of back that up.
Nurse: Now you're just arguing semantics.
Note to the world: I don't think that she knows what the word "semantics" means.
Next, we talked about exercise. At the GD class, we were told that if our blood glucose levels after eating were too high, they can usually be lowered by exercising a bit during the hour immediately after eating but before testing.
Nurse: Are you exercising after meals?
Me: I do exercise every day, but it is very hard with my schedule to exercise within an hour of starting a meal, because I'm commuting after breakfast, and I'm in meetings after lunch.
Nurse: Oh, okay. Then we should probably put you on insulin.
Me: Pardon me? I thought that my numbers all look great?
Nurse: Yes, they do. But if you're not willing to exercise, we'll need to put you on insulin. Your choice.
Me: You would put me on insulin even if my levels are completely under control without it? What would you possibly accomplish by doing that?
Nurse: We just want to help you to protect your baby.
As an aside: does implying that a pregnant woman doesn't care about her baby really motivate her to change behavior? Because it honestly just pisses me off. So does threatening me with completely unnecessary medical interventions.
The exercise discussion also included this bit:
Nurse: There's lots of ways to exercise. Don't you play with your toddler?
Me: Yes I do, but not after meals.
Nurse: Why not?
Me: An hour after breakfast, I'm at work. Same with lunch. And an hour after dinner, my toddler is in bed. I play with my toddler a whole lot during the day, but it tends to be before breakfast and before dinner, and there isn't much I can do about that.
Nurse: (with a disapproving look) Okay....
And finally, there's this gem:
Nurse: Is there anything that you had trouble with this week?
Me: I found it difficult to test after breakfast, because I'm commuting to work one hour after breakfast.
Nurse: Maybe you shouldn't go to work for a while.
Me: Um, I don't see how that is possibly an option.
Nurse: We just want to help you to protect your baby.
Me: My baby seems pretty well protected without me dropping out of school and quitting my job.
Nurse: Well, I guess that's your choice.
Yeah, not the best medical experience I've had in my life. At a minimum, I was looking for a little support and advice about how to fit all this monitoring into my life. I was not looking for threats, or implications that I'm a bad mother, or being treated like a liar. And yet, after all the disapproving comments during the appointment, she concluded by telling me that I seem to have things so well under control that I can go several weeks between appointments.
And yes, I made sure to make my next appointment with a different nurse.
The whole appointment started off bad. I have a written log on which I'm supposed to write down everything I eat, and what my four-times-a-day glucose levels are. I dutifully filled in the entire log. The first thing the nurse did was take the log from me, then ask for my glucose monitor. The monitor has a memory function, which stores a month's worth of values. She then proceeded to go through all the numbers in the monitor to verify that I didn't lie on my written log. She did this for the entire week's worth of values. Then she eyed me suspiciously and asked if I was sure that all of my numbers were from my blood and not from somebody else in my household. Nothing quite like the feeling of knowing, without a doubt, that the person sitting across from you is convinced that you're a liar.
Then we had this conversation:
Nurse: Wow, your numbers look great!
Me: Thank you. Given my weird initial test results, and my low monitoring numbers, do you think it's possible that I don't have GD, maybe ease up on some of the restrictions a bit?
Nurse: No, you definitely have GD. Otherwise you wouldn't have failed the test.
Me: But, by the ADA criteria, I didn't fail the test. And my monitoring numbers kind of back that up.
Nurse: Now you're just arguing semantics.
Note to the world: I don't think that she knows what the word "semantics" means.
Next, we talked about exercise. At the GD class, we were told that if our blood glucose levels after eating were too high, they can usually be lowered by exercising a bit during the hour immediately after eating but before testing.
Nurse: Are you exercising after meals?
Me: I do exercise every day, but it is very hard with my schedule to exercise within an hour of starting a meal, because I'm commuting after breakfast, and I'm in meetings after lunch.
Nurse: Oh, okay. Then we should probably put you on insulin.
Me: Pardon me? I thought that my numbers all look great?
Nurse: Yes, they do. But if you're not willing to exercise, we'll need to put you on insulin. Your choice.
Me: You would put me on insulin even if my levels are completely under control without it? What would you possibly accomplish by doing that?
Nurse: We just want to help you to protect your baby.
As an aside: does implying that a pregnant woman doesn't care about her baby really motivate her to change behavior? Because it honestly just pisses me off. So does threatening me with completely unnecessary medical interventions.
The exercise discussion also included this bit:
Nurse: There's lots of ways to exercise. Don't you play with your toddler?
Me: Yes I do, but not after meals.
Nurse: Why not?
Me: An hour after breakfast, I'm at work. Same with lunch. And an hour after dinner, my toddler is in bed. I play with my toddler a whole lot during the day, but it tends to be before breakfast and before dinner, and there isn't much I can do about that.
Nurse: (with a disapproving look) Okay....
And finally, there's this gem:
Nurse: Is there anything that you had trouble with this week?
Me: I found it difficult to test after breakfast, because I'm commuting to work one hour after breakfast.
Nurse: Maybe you shouldn't go to work for a while.
Me: Um, I don't see how that is possibly an option.
Nurse: We just want to help you to protect your baby.
Me: My baby seems pretty well protected without me dropping out of school and quitting my job.
Nurse: Well, I guess that's your choice.
Yeah, not the best medical experience I've had in my life. At a minimum, I was looking for a little support and advice about how to fit all this monitoring into my life. I was not looking for threats, or implications that I'm a bad mother, or being treated like a liar. And yet, after all the disapproving comments during the appointment, she concluded by telling me that I seem to have things so well under control that I can go several weeks between appointments.
And yes, I made sure to make my next appointment with a different nurse.
Thursday, May 13, 2010
Anxiety
I need to whine. A lot. Bear with me.
Car accidents suck. Car accidents while pregnant suck even more. Car accidents while none of your friends or family know that you're pregnant are even worse.
My back is still killing me from the accident, and all I can take is Tylenol. All of my friends and family keep eagerly asking me what I'm taking for the pain, and when I tell them that I'm just taking Tylenol, they think that I'm nuts, since they don't know that the pregnancy is limiting my pain relief options. Several have told me that I should angrily call my doctor and insist that she prescribe something stronger for me. My options for dealing with my friends: either lie to them and tell them that my back isn't that bad, so I don't need anything stronger; or lie to them and tell them that I am taking something stronger, even though I'm not. Either way, it's pretty obvious when you're with me for more than a few minutes that I'm awfully uncomfortable, so I don't know that either lie will be at all believable.
Several of my friends have had experience with neck and back injuries from car accidents, and they're asking me all sorts of questions about what my x-ray showed. Um, I haven't had an x-ray. There's really no way to x-ray the lower back without shooting radiation through my defenseless 6-week-old apple seed. (S wants me to get the x-ray, in the hope that the radiation will produce a child with superpowers. I think he's kidding. But he might not be.) But when my friends hear that I haven't had an x-ray or an MRI, they're outraged. They're positive that my doctor is negligent, or stupid, or both. But I can't explain to them that my doctor is not being negligent, she's being respectful of my desire to protect my child, because they don't know that I'm pregnant.
I'm tempted to lie and tell them that I did get an MRI, and it showed nothing, just to get people off my case. But you know what totally stupid reason is stopping me? I desperately want sympathy. And if I tell people that I have good strong pain killers and nothing seriously wrong, then nobody will give me any sympathy at all, even though it's obvious to me that something is wrong, and I'm in a lot of pain.
I'm seeing a specialist on Monday, who will hopefully be able to diagnose something, or at least rule out my primary care doctor's worry that I fractured my back. I don't know how much he'll be able to do, though, without an x-ray or an MRI. I'm kind of scared that he's just going to say that without an x-ray, there's nothing he can suggest for me, and send me on my way.
Also, I'm terrified for my ultrasound next week. I know that my little apple seed is well cushioned, and should be completely immune to any effects from the accident, but still... I hate not knowing for sure. And I can't just ask for an early ultrasound, because an ultrasound right now wouldn't actually show anything yet, it's still too early. If it were a few weeks from now, my doctor could have done an ultrasound immediately after the accident, and I'd know that everything was fine. But having to wait? Sucks sucks sucks sucks sucks.
I'm also terrified that I won't be able to make it through nine months of pregnancy with a back injury. I had lower back pain on and off during my pregnancy with LL, and that was just from a normal pregnancy. Going through that with an injured back and pre-existing pain? With no options for relief? I don't know how to cope with that.
And I really hate that S is the only person I can talk to. Don't get me wrong -- S is great -- but I hate not being able to talk to other family and friends. I was tempted to just tell my mom everything, but then I get upset that this isn't exactly how I wanted to tell her about the pregnancy. ("No, Mom, I haven't had an MRI, because it's not safe for the baby. Oh, did I not mention that I'm pregnant?") Also, S is very very into the first trimester secrecy thing. He's already upset that so many people know. (He complained to me that the police officers at the accident scene knew about the pregnancy before our family. Um, not a lot I can do about that.) So telling people about the pregnancy isn't really a good option.
So, I'm lying down a lot and taking Tylenol and trying to work, and I'm putting on a brave face for everyone around me and pretending that it's nothing, I'm fine, nothing to worry about. But I'm actually in a lot of pain, and I'm full of anxiety. I'll hopefully have some answers by the end of next week, after I meet with the specialist and see the apple seed on ultrasound, but in the mean time... this just really sucks.
Car accidents suck. Car accidents while pregnant suck even more. Car accidents while none of your friends or family know that you're pregnant are even worse.
My back is still killing me from the accident, and all I can take is Tylenol. All of my friends and family keep eagerly asking me what I'm taking for the pain, and when I tell them that I'm just taking Tylenol, they think that I'm nuts, since they don't know that the pregnancy is limiting my pain relief options. Several have told me that I should angrily call my doctor and insist that she prescribe something stronger for me. My options for dealing with my friends: either lie to them and tell them that my back isn't that bad, so I don't need anything stronger; or lie to them and tell them that I am taking something stronger, even though I'm not. Either way, it's pretty obvious when you're with me for more than a few minutes that I'm awfully uncomfortable, so I don't know that either lie will be at all believable.
Several of my friends have had experience with neck and back injuries from car accidents, and they're asking me all sorts of questions about what my x-ray showed. Um, I haven't had an x-ray. There's really no way to x-ray the lower back without shooting radiation through my defenseless 6-week-old apple seed. (S wants me to get the x-ray, in the hope that the radiation will produce a child with superpowers. I think he's kidding. But he might not be.) But when my friends hear that I haven't had an x-ray or an MRI, they're outraged. They're positive that my doctor is negligent, or stupid, or both. But I can't explain to them that my doctor is not being negligent, she's being respectful of my desire to protect my child, because they don't know that I'm pregnant.
I'm tempted to lie and tell them that I did get an MRI, and it showed nothing, just to get people off my case. But you know what totally stupid reason is stopping me? I desperately want sympathy. And if I tell people that I have good strong pain killers and nothing seriously wrong, then nobody will give me any sympathy at all, even though it's obvious to me that something is wrong, and I'm in a lot of pain.
I'm seeing a specialist on Monday, who will hopefully be able to diagnose something, or at least rule out my primary care doctor's worry that I fractured my back. I don't know how much he'll be able to do, though, without an x-ray or an MRI. I'm kind of scared that he's just going to say that without an x-ray, there's nothing he can suggest for me, and send me on my way.
Also, I'm terrified for my ultrasound next week. I know that my little apple seed is well cushioned, and should be completely immune to any effects from the accident, but still... I hate not knowing for sure. And I can't just ask for an early ultrasound, because an ultrasound right now wouldn't actually show anything yet, it's still too early. If it were a few weeks from now, my doctor could have done an ultrasound immediately after the accident, and I'd know that everything was fine. But having to wait? Sucks sucks sucks sucks sucks.
I'm also terrified that I won't be able to make it through nine months of pregnancy with a back injury. I had lower back pain on and off during my pregnancy with LL, and that was just from a normal pregnancy. Going through that with an injured back and pre-existing pain? With no options for relief? I don't know how to cope with that.
And I really hate that S is the only person I can talk to. Don't get me wrong -- S is great -- but I hate not being able to talk to other family and friends. I was tempted to just tell my mom everything, but then I get upset that this isn't exactly how I wanted to tell her about the pregnancy. ("No, Mom, I haven't had an MRI, because it's not safe for the baby. Oh, did I not mention that I'm pregnant?") Also, S is very very into the first trimester secrecy thing. He's already upset that so many people know. (He complained to me that the police officers at the accident scene knew about the pregnancy before our family. Um, not a lot I can do about that.) So telling people about the pregnancy isn't really a good option.
So, I'm lying down a lot and taking Tylenol and trying to work, and I'm putting on a brave face for everyone around me and pretending that it's nothing, I'm fine, nothing to worry about. But I'm actually in a lot of pain, and I'm full of anxiety. I'll hopefully have some answers by the end of next week, after I meet with the specialist and see the apple seed on ultrasound, but in the mean time... this just really sucks.
Monday, May 10, 2010
Things that Sucked Today
1. Getting into an accident on the freeway this morning because the stupid car behind me didn't notice that everybody in front of them, including me, had already come to a stop.
2. Thinking that I could drive to work once the police finished writing up their report, only to discover that I had a flat tire, which necessitated me pulling over into a random parking lot off an unnamed frontage road.
3. Both the tow truck driver and the rental car guy getting lost on their way to meet me.
4. My cell phone company having an area-wide outage just then, resulting in my cell phone, and the cell phones of a few strangers that I managed to flag down, being completely unable to either make or receive calls. Thus, the tow truck driver and the rental car guy were both trying to call me to figure out where I was, but I didn't receive any of their calls, and I was unable to call them to figure out what was going on once I realized that I'd been waiting an awfully long time. Thanks for nothing, AT&T.
5. The tow truck guy arriving before the rental guy, requiring me to empty my car of all of my belongings, including LL's car seat, into the middle of the parking lot, then sit with them in the rain while I waited for the rental car. The tow truck guy was kind enough to contact the rental car place for me using his phone, to give them better directions, but was not kind enough to let me wait in his truck out of the rain. Because, you know, he has a schedule to keep.
6. The rental car company arriving with barely enough time to get me a car and get me back on the road to make it to the doctors appointment that I'd quickly scheduled immediately after the crash. How silly of me to think that 3+ hours would be plenty of time to make it to the appointment less than a mile away from the site of the accident.
7. My doctor informing me that, if I was already feeling whiplash pain in my neck so soon after the accident, I'm probably going to be feeling a whole heck of a lot of pain for the next several weeks, but because I'm first-trimester pregnant, I can only take Tylenol.
8. My doctor becoming extremely concerned about some tenderness in my lower back. She thinks it's possible that I fractured my back, but the only way to be sure would be to take an x-ray, which is a no-no during early pregnancy.
9. The orthopedic consult ordered by my doctor being booked for the next several months. They're going to try to fit me in sometime in the next week or two, but in the mean time, I've been told to report immediately to the emergency room if I feel any numbness in my legs.
10. Discovering that my local drug store is sold out of Tylenol.
On the plus side, I'm not having any spotting or cramping, so it's possible that my little apple seed is still safe and sound for now.
2. Thinking that I could drive to work once the police finished writing up their report, only to discover that I had a flat tire, which necessitated me pulling over into a random parking lot off an unnamed frontage road.
3. Both the tow truck driver and the rental car guy getting lost on their way to meet me.
4. My cell phone company having an area-wide outage just then, resulting in my cell phone, and the cell phones of a few strangers that I managed to flag down, being completely unable to either make or receive calls. Thus, the tow truck driver and the rental car guy were both trying to call me to figure out where I was, but I didn't receive any of their calls, and I was unable to call them to figure out what was going on once I realized that I'd been waiting an awfully long time. Thanks for nothing, AT&T.
5. The tow truck guy arriving before the rental guy, requiring me to empty my car of all of my belongings, including LL's car seat, into the middle of the parking lot, then sit with them in the rain while I waited for the rental car. The tow truck guy was kind enough to contact the rental car place for me using his phone, to give them better directions, but was not kind enough to let me wait in his truck out of the rain. Because, you know, he has a schedule to keep.
6. The rental car company arriving with barely enough time to get me a car and get me back on the road to make it to the doctors appointment that I'd quickly scheduled immediately after the crash. How silly of me to think that 3+ hours would be plenty of time to make it to the appointment less than a mile away from the site of the accident.
7. My doctor informing me that, if I was already feeling whiplash pain in my neck so soon after the accident, I'm probably going to be feeling a whole heck of a lot of pain for the next several weeks, but because I'm first-trimester pregnant, I can only take Tylenol.
8. My doctor becoming extremely concerned about some tenderness in my lower back. She thinks it's possible that I fractured my back, but the only way to be sure would be to take an x-ray, which is a no-no during early pregnancy.
9. The orthopedic consult ordered by my doctor being booked for the next several months. They're going to try to fit me in sometime in the next week or two, but in the mean time, I've been told to report immediately to the emergency room if I feel any numbness in my legs.
10. Discovering that my local drug store is sold out of Tylenol.
On the plus side, I'm not having any spotting or cramping, so it's possible that my little apple seed is still safe and sound for now.
Wednesday, May 5, 2010
Progress
Yep, I'm ever-so-slightly pregnant. 4w5d. That scary hold-your-breath, don't-count-your-chickens period of time before you've even seen a tadpole with a little flickering pixel of a heartbeat on ultrasound. Tentative due date, pending confirmation at my first prenatal appointment in mid-May, is January 7.
Morning sickness set in much sooner than last time, and I am spending an unbelievable amount of my limited energy on trying not to toss my cookies. I was fairly nauseous for most of the first trimester with LL, but I never actually threw up even once, despite putting myself into some very questionable situations (several long and turbulent airplane rides, exposure to new and very smelly foods, and an ill-advised IMAX movie, to name a few). This time around, I'm already feeling sicker than last time, and I haven't even reached the point when I first started to feel morning sickness last time. Yikes! Not even five weeks yet, and I'm already carrying around saltine crackers.
When I was pregnant with LL, we waited until we were safely past 13 weeks to tell absolutely anyone about the pregnancy. (We told my brother around 9 weeks, due to some special circumstances, but that was it; even our parents didn't find out until Week 13.) We hope to keep this pregnancy under wraps as well, as much as possible. If I continue to be so much more sick in the first trimester, that might be tough. And, much to my dismay, one of my friends already knows. We went to her daughter's birthday party last weekend, and she served a lunch of cold cut sandwiches. I had just found out that I was pregnant, and hadn't reviewed all of the foods that I'm supposed to avoid eating, so I took a sandwich. And then remembered that cold cuts are no-nos. And I apparently swore quietly under my breath and tried to be subtle about returning the sandwich to the tray. But my friend noticed, and asked me later if I was pregnant. I tried to come up with some other reasonable excuse for putting the sandwich back, but I totally failed, so... yeah, she knows. She then told me that she worried about serving cold cuts, in case anyone was pregnant, but then decided that it would be a fun "test" so that she could discover any unannounced pregnancies before everyone else knew. Which is, um, clever I guess, but I kind of resent falling into her little trap. It's still very very very very early for us, and without even seeing a heartbeat on ultrasound yet, I really really hate that the cat is even a little out of the bag.
But, there it is. 4w5d. I'm thrilled, but trying very hard not to get my hopes up. Counting down to the first ultrasound at seven weeks.
Morning sickness set in much sooner than last time, and I am spending an unbelievable amount of my limited energy on trying not to toss my cookies. I was fairly nauseous for most of the first trimester with LL, but I never actually threw up even once, despite putting myself into some very questionable situations (several long and turbulent airplane rides, exposure to new and very smelly foods, and an ill-advised IMAX movie, to name a few). This time around, I'm already feeling sicker than last time, and I haven't even reached the point when I first started to feel morning sickness last time. Yikes! Not even five weeks yet, and I'm already carrying around saltine crackers.
When I was pregnant with LL, we waited until we were safely past 13 weeks to tell absolutely anyone about the pregnancy. (We told my brother around 9 weeks, due to some special circumstances, but that was it; even our parents didn't find out until Week 13.) We hope to keep this pregnancy under wraps as well, as much as possible. If I continue to be so much more sick in the first trimester, that might be tough. And, much to my dismay, one of my friends already knows. We went to her daughter's birthday party last weekend, and she served a lunch of cold cut sandwiches. I had just found out that I was pregnant, and hadn't reviewed all of the foods that I'm supposed to avoid eating, so I took a sandwich. And then remembered that cold cuts are no-nos. And I apparently swore quietly under my breath and tried to be subtle about returning the sandwich to the tray. But my friend noticed, and asked me later if I was pregnant. I tried to come up with some other reasonable excuse for putting the sandwich back, but I totally failed, so... yeah, she knows. She then told me that she worried about serving cold cuts, in case anyone was pregnant, but then decided that it would be a fun "test" so that she could discover any unannounced pregnancies before everyone else knew. Which is, um, clever I guess, but I kind of resent falling into her little trap. It's still very very very very early for us, and without even seeing a heartbeat on ultrasound yet, I really really hate that the cat is even a little out of the bag.
But, there it is. 4w5d. I'm thrilled, but trying very hard not to get my hopes up. Counting down to the first ultrasound at seven weeks.
Tuesday, December 1, 2009
Toddlerhood!
LL is climbing on everything, and he's like half an inch away from being able to open doors. He's addicted to peek-a-boo, and has developed a dramatic flourish for when he throws his arms wide to reveal his face. He blows on food when it's too hot. He can more or less feed himself with a fork. But most exciting of all:
LL is walking!
Wait, "walking" is a bit strong. LL is taking five steps or so before carefully falling gracefully to the ground! Yes, he is now the definition of toddler. The Friday before Thanksgiving, he consented to take some steps while holding onto somebody's hands. (Before that, he would only take steps while holding onto furniture. Other human beings were apparently not stable enough to trust with the support of his 24 pound frame.) On Sunday, he let go of me and took two steps to S. On Monday, he rested. (Learning to walk is very hard work.) After saying a cheerful "hello" to his auntie, S's sister, on Tuesday, LL spent the entire afternoon insisting that Auntie and I sit on the floor a few feet apart from each other so that he could toddle between us. By Wednesday, our house was packed with all of the visiting in-laws, and everybody had to be very careful not to trip over LL, who was pulling himself up on any and all available legs and then setting off across the open floor before falling prostrate onto the ground, usually right in front of an older relative carefully balancing a heaping plate of food.
In related news, Thanksgiving was fun and busy and entertaining and frustrating and stressful, and thankfully, it is now over. S's family has some weird dynamics, and even after ten years, I'm still getting used to it. Also, S's childhood friend, D, who has known his family for a long long time and often spends Thanksgiving with them, was with us for the week and drove me crazy. (As an example: Friday afternoon I had just finished serving lunch to 20 people, for the third day in a row, and finished prepping dinner for the same 20 people, for the fourth day in a row, and finally gotten LL to nap, and my house was still full of guests but they were happy and entertaining themselves for a change, and I sat down to relax a little for the first time in forever, when D came over to me and told me that he and his wife wanted to go shopping but they didn't want to bring their two-year-old with them, so they were going to leave him with me for a few hours. And then they just left. And the two-year-old was in a strange house filled with people he didn't know, and he freaked out. And I spent the next two hours trying to calm him down and reassure him that mommy and daddy were going to come back for him real soon. Because in addition to hosting tons of family for 5 days and cooking a ridiculous amount of food, I was apparently running a holiday baby-sitting service. Also, D arrived at our house on day four with a horrible cough, and when we asked him about it, he said that he'd been really sick for a while now, but he'd been masking it with cold medicine so that he could still come over for Thanksgiving. He'd run out of medicine, so he couldn't hide it from us anymore. Jerk. Yesterday, LL started coughing. Shocking, right?)
On the plus side, S's family was totally charmed by LL, who really ramped up the cuteness for the week. No traces of separation anxiety -- he was totally equal opportunity, playing with everybody and going to the park alone with aunties and uncles that he hadn't seen since he was three months old. He even spent a good hour with a particularly grumpy uncle, handing blocks and stacking cups back and forth and clapping enthusiastically whenever the uncle smiled at him. I even got to see the first half of the Packers game while the turkey cooked (go Pack!) and LL wore his little Packers jersey and cheered for every first down, and crawled around the room tugging on people's legs to make sure that they knew that they were supposed to be clapping. He is scarily comfortable being the center of attention.
So, we survived. Everybody is now back safely at home, our fridge is full of leftovers, and we're slowly putting the house back together. I told S that I'm not cooking again for a month, but I'll probably break down after a few days of pizza and spaghetti. We won't have to host Thanksgiving for at least 6 years (longer if S's sister gets added to the rotation, which will probably happen soon). So, the next time we host, LL will be in grade school, we'll probably be living in a different state, we could have another child, and theoretically, I could have tenure somewhere. Freaky!
I'm feverishly back to working on job applications, with the hopes of getting all of the materials done by December 10 (a little over a week from now). If I can hit that deadline, I can turn my attention to a paper that I'm trying to finish, hoping to get it done before Christmas. If both of those things get done on time, I will be free of work obligations through the December holidays. S's office shuts down between Christmas and New Year's, which gives us an 11-day stretch of vacation during which we will both be free. Amazing! We had been planning on staying home and relaxing and playing with LL for that entire time, but we're starting to feel a little guilty about not bringing LL to visit family, so we might travel for New Year's after all.
Deadlines are looming. No more break time for me. Back to work!
LL is walking!
Wait, "walking" is a bit strong. LL is taking five steps or so before carefully falling gracefully to the ground! Yes, he is now the definition of toddler. The Friday before Thanksgiving, he consented to take some steps while holding onto somebody's hands. (Before that, he would only take steps while holding onto furniture. Other human beings were apparently not stable enough to trust with the support of his 24 pound frame.) On Sunday, he let go of me and took two steps to S. On Monday, he rested. (Learning to walk is very hard work.) After saying a cheerful "hello" to his auntie, S's sister, on Tuesday, LL spent the entire afternoon insisting that Auntie and I sit on the floor a few feet apart from each other so that he could toddle between us. By Wednesday, our house was packed with all of the visiting in-laws, and everybody had to be very careful not to trip over LL, who was pulling himself up on any and all available legs and then setting off across the open floor before falling prostrate onto the ground, usually right in front of an older relative carefully balancing a heaping plate of food.
In related news, Thanksgiving was fun and busy and entertaining and frustrating and stressful, and thankfully, it is now over. S's family has some weird dynamics, and even after ten years, I'm still getting used to it. Also, S's childhood friend, D, who has known his family for a long long time and often spends Thanksgiving with them, was with us for the week and drove me crazy. (As an example: Friday afternoon I had just finished serving lunch to 20 people, for the third day in a row, and finished prepping dinner for the same 20 people, for the fourth day in a row, and finally gotten LL to nap, and my house was still full of guests but they were happy and entertaining themselves for a change, and I sat down to relax a little for the first time in forever, when D came over to me and told me that he and his wife wanted to go shopping but they didn't want to bring their two-year-old with them, so they were going to leave him with me for a few hours. And then they just left. And the two-year-old was in a strange house filled with people he didn't know, and he freaked out. And I spent the next two hours trying to calm him down and reassure him that mommy and daddy were going to come back for him real soon. Because in addition to hosting tons of family for 5 days and cooking a ridiculous amount of food, I was apparently running a holiday baby-sitting service. Also, D arrived at our house on day four with a horrible cough, and when we asked him about it, he said that he'd been really sick for a while now, but he'd been masking it with cold medicine so that he could still come over for Thanksgiving. He'd run out of medicine, so he couldn't hide it from us anymore. Jerk. Yesterday, LL started coughing. Shocking, right?)
On the plus side, S's family was totally charmed by LL, who really ramped up the cuteness for the week. No traces of separation anxiety -- he was totally equal opportunity, playing with everybody and going to the park alone with aunties and uncles that he hadn't seen since he was three months old. He even spent a good hour with a particularly grumpy uncle, handing blocks and stacking cups back and forth and clapping enthusiastically whenever the uncle smiled at him. I even got to see the first half of the Packers game while the turkey cooked (go Pack!) and LL wore his little Packers jersey and cheered for every first down, and crawled around the room tugging on people's legs to make sure that they knew that they were supposed to be clapping. He is scarily comfortable being the center of attention.
So, we survived. Everybody is now back safely at home, our fridge is full of leftovers, and we're slowly putting the house back together. I told S that I'm not cooking again for a month, but I'll probably break down after a few days of pizza and spaghetti. We won't have to host Thanksgiving for at least 6 years (longer if S's sister gets added to the rotation, which will probably happen soon). So, the next time we host, LL will be in grade school, we'll probably be living in a different state, we could have another child, and theoretically, I could have tenure somewhere. Freaky!
I'm feverishly back to working on job applications, with the hopes of getting all of the materials done by December 10 (a little over a week from now). If I can hit that deadline, I can turn my attention to a paper that I'm trying to finish, hoping to get it done before Christmas. If both of those things get done on time, I will be free of work obligations through the December holidays. S's office shuts down between Christmas and New Year's, which gives us an 11-day stretch of vacation during which we will both be free. Amazing! We had been planning on staying home and relaxing and playing with LL for that entire time, but we're starting to feel a little guilty about not bringing LL to visit family, so we might travel for New Year's after all.
Deadlines are looming. No more break time for me. Back to work!
Monday, October 5, 2009
Separation Anxiety
I'm an idiot. Seriously -- a complete moron. Why do I ever write things like "LL never went through a clingy phase"? What was I thinking when I wrote that in my last post? Haven't I learned by now that putting statements like that in writing is the surest possible way to guarantee that they stop being true?!?
LL is now completely 100% no-holds-barred in a clingy separation anxiety phase. He climbs all over me as soon as I pick him up in the morning. He cries and clings to fistfuls of my clothing (or hair) when I try to drop him off at daycare, or to hand him to someone else. The clinging is accompanied by a look of pure terror and pitiful wails. (In true toddler fashion, he stops crying and goes happily about his day 30 seconds after I leave, which is great for the daycare but sucks for me, because I hear his whimpering and sniffling in my head for the rest of the day.) It's slightly better if I try to hand him to someone he knows very well, but even then, as soon as he's comfortably settled in that person's arms, he turns and reaches for me to take him back again. (If I don't take him back immediately, he proceeds to the pitiful wails.)
When I pick him up from daycare at the end of the day, he insists on being attached to me for the rest of the day. If I try to put him down, even if it's just to play with him on the floor at home, he screams and grabs at me until I take him back into my arms. He doesn't want to go down for naps. He doesn't want to go to sleep at night. And for the past two weeks, he's been waking up around 11pm and screaming and sobbing until we go in to get him, and then he stays up for hours at a time. (We discovered a few nights ago that he goes back to sleep better if S goes to him instead of me, but he's still up for at least an hour.)
It's clear that LL is exhausted -- he has little bags under his eyes, and when he's awake in the middle of the night, he puts his head down and whimpers. I'm certain that he wants to be asleep. But he seems so full of anxiety that he can't fall back asleep. Baby insomnia. And none of our regular tricks are working -- milk, fresh air, rocking, singing, walking around the house, patting his back.... He just can't calm down enough to go back to sleep.
My friends tell me that these phases usually only last a month or so before they fade (and then reappear, and fade, and reappear, ...). I hope so, because it's both mentally and physically exhausting. I also think that it has been made worse by all of the daycare changes, and I think that it's also being compounded by teething (yep, fairly certain those molars are on their way). I can't take much more. I have a new baby carrier (a lovely mei tai that LL seems to really enjoy riding in) and it's the only thing keeping me sane in the afternoons. As soon as we get home, he goes into the mei tai and stays there until dinner, because otherwise my arms would fall off from carrying him. But even with the best carrier in the world, 22+ pounds is a lot of active toddler to be carrying around for hours every afternoon.
I know that almost all babies go through a separation anxiety phase at some point (or multiple points) during the first two years. But the "oh my goodness, my mommy is abandoning me, I can't believe I'm about to be left all alone in the world, if I can't see her and touch her I will surely perish!" thing is bringing on a horrible bout of mommy guilt. All of which is made worse by the fact that I'm hating school right now, and I'm hating the process of looking for a job after I graduate, and I feel like there's absolutely nothing that I want to do professionally right now, so why in the hell am I abandoning my child if I'm not even enjoying what I'm abandoning him for? But that's probably the renewed sleep deprivation talking. Right?
LL is now completely 100% no-holds-barred in a clingy separation anxiety phase. He climbs all over me as soon as I pick him up in the morning. He cries and clings to fistfuls of my clothing (or hair) when I try to drop him off at daycare, or to hand him to someone else. The clinging is accompanied by a look of pure terror and pitiful wails. (In true toddler fashion, he stops crying and goes happily about his day 30 seconds after I leave, which is great for the daycare but sucks for me, because I hear his whimpering and sniffling in my head for the rest of the day.) It's slightly better if I try to hand him to someone he knows very well, but even then, as soon as he's comfortably settled in that person's arms, he turns and reaches for me to take him back again. (If I don't take him back immediately, he proceeds to the pitiful wails.)
When I pick him up from daycare at the end of the day, he insists on being attached to me for the rest of the day. If I try to put him down, even if it's just to play with him on the floor at home, he screams and grabs at me until I take him back into my arms. He doesn't want to go down for naps. He doesn't want to go to sleep at night. And for the past two weeks, he's been waking up around 11pm and screaming and sobbing until we go in to get him, and then he stays up for hours at a time. (We discovered a few nights ago that he goes back to sleep better if S goes to him instead of me, but he's still up for at least an hour.)
It's clear that LL is exhausted -- he has little bags under his eyes, and when he's awake in the middle of the night, he puts his head down and whimpers. I'm certain that he wants to be asleep. But he seems so full of anxiety that he can't fall back asleep. Baby insomnia. And none of our regular tricks are working -- milk, fresh air, rocking, singing, walking around the house, patting his back.... He just can't calm down enough to go back to sleep.
My friends tell me that these phases usually only last a month or so before they fade (and then reappear, and fade, and reappear, ...). I hope so, because it's both mentally and physically exhausting. I also think that it has been made worse by all of the daycare changes, and I think that it's also being compounded by teething (yep, fairly certain those molars are on their way). I can't take much more. I have a new baby carrier (a lovely mei tai that LL seems to really enjoy riding in) and it's the only thing keeping me sane in the afternoons. As soon as we get home, he goes into the mei tai and stays there until dinner, because otherwise my arms would fall off from carrying him. But even with the best carrier in the world, 22+ pounds is a lot of active toddler to be carrying around for hours every afternoon.
I know that almost all babies go through a separation anxiety phase at some point (or multiple points) during the first two years. But the "oh my goodness, my mommy is abandoning me, I can't believe I'm about to be left all alone in the world, if I can't see her and touch her I will surely perish!" thing is bringing on a horrible bout of mommy guilt. All of which is made worse by the fact that I'm hating school right now, and I'm hating the process of looking for a job after I graduate, and I feel like there's absolutely nothing that I want to do professionally right now, so why in the hell am I abandoning my child if I'm not even enjoying what I'm abandoning him for? But that's probably the renewed sleep deprivation talking. Right?
Thursday, July 16, 2009
Funding Update
Updating on my shitty graduate student funding situation. AdvisorB is now involved. And a bit horrified at what AdvisorA is doing. And, in acknowledgment that I really need AdvisorA to stay on my committee and be my research advisor, AdvisorB is going to handle most of the financial discussions with her. And no, it's not a good idea to rely completely on AdvisorB, but it's better than pissing off AdvisorA so much about money that she makes my life difficult re: graduation, too. Much better that AdvisorB is available to be the bad cop. (I'm also talking to a lot of other people and desperately trying to find other options in my department, as far as gap funding and the like, so it's not that I'm idly twiddling my thumbs while I wait for AdvisorA and AdvisorB to work it out.)
Also, AdvisorA is now denying that she ever promised to continue funding me after the large project ran out. I know this isn't true. AdvisorB knows this isn't true. And it's one of the shittiest things I've ever heard, since it appears that she wasn't interested in me as a student, but just as labor on that one project, because it was convenient (and my participation is what allowed her to keep that funding in the first place!).
As I told AdvisorB yesterday, I feel completely betrayed that AdvisorA is violating the traditional (though, admittedly, not universal) social contract that exists between graduate students and advisors. The social contract goes something like this: the student works insane hours for the advisor for many years, doing whatever she's told and helping to fulfill the promises made by the advisor to the funding agencies. The student gets paid very little and gets little out of the experience except, well, experience. Think "apprenticeship." In exchange, the advisor agrees to fund the student during that critical final year, when the student needs to be doing work not covered by grant money, like tie-everything-together work and write-the-thesis work, even though the advisor is no longer getting cheap high-quality labor out of the student during that year. This social contract guarantees several years of cheap labor for the advisor, while also guaranteeing that the student can afford to pay rent while she finishes her thesis and graduates.
Good system, eh? Except that a social contract isn't anything that's ever in writing. Students do their part for many years on the assumption that their advisor will hold up their end of the bargain when the final thesis push happens. But sometimes students (ahem, me) get screwed. I did my part, and now my advisor is essentially cutting me loose and refusing to fund me for my last year while I finish up.
I've had several conversations with AdvisorA since I last wrote about this situation, and I've come to the conclusion that she's not a liar and she's not sexist; she's just really stupid and irresponsible, and she's embarrassed about being stupid and irresponsible. She didn't plan ahead, she really is short on money right now, and she's guilty and embarrassed that she let it get this bad. In an effort to make herself feel better, she's lashing out at everybody else, desperately trying to find somebody else to blame for her poor planning. When she told me, "I shouldn't have to fund you now, because you took a leave of absence to have a baby, so you clearly don't care about academia," what she was really thinking was, "I should have planned better, but now I'm out of cash. I want to fund the students at my new university first, but then there will be nothing left for you. I totally saw this coming, but I forgot to plan ahead and do something about it. I'm stupid. But I don't want to admit to being stupid. Let me try to find a way to make this your fault, so that maybe you'll get upset and just walk away." Um, yeah.
Her latest suggestion: I should take another leave of absence from school, for the next year. I should spend the first three months working full-time for Boss Lady, during which time I would save as much money as I can, so that I will have money to live off of during the following year, when I'm not getting a stipend (or any other income). Then I should spend the rest of the year finishing my thesis at home, living off of the money that I made while working for Boss Lady. Then I re-enroll at school for just long enough to submit my thesis, paying my own tuition and still not receiving a stipend. In other words: I should postpone my graduation for several months, and I should fund my last year myself, leaving AdvisorA completely out of the equation. This is an excellent deal for her: she got her years of cheap labor out of me; she gets to list me as one of her academic children; but she doesn't have to do that annoying funding-my-thesis thing. It's a horrible, horrible deal for me: I have to work for several months on unrelated stuff that I'm not interested in, just to squirrel away some cash, after which I have to once again transition back into my thesis work; I have to do all of my last year from home, without much contact with other humans, because I won't be an official student; I'll graduate several months later than planned, which will make job hunting even harder; I'll take additional financial hits like my student loans coming due and my insurance going up, because I'll lose my "full-time student" designation, not to mention having to pay some amount of tuition out-of-pocket.
My search for a viable solution continues. AdvisorB talked to the head of our department, who is a highly influential and highly respected guy, and their current plan is to jointly call AdvisorA, remind her about the student-advisor social contract, and attempt to guilt her into funding me. (Yep, the current plan relies entirely on guilt as a solution.) Meanwhile, I'm applying for TA positions for the upcoming fall. And, in a nod to the kind of luck I've been having lately, almost all of the courses that I would remotely want to TA meet at times that will conflict with daycare pickup or drop-off times. I might end up having to TA, but I will apparently be the worst TA in the world, making life miserable for an entire class of undergraduates. Spread the misery.
Also, AdvisorA is now denying that she ever promised to continue funding me after the large project ran out. I know this isn't true. AdvisorB knows this isn't true. And it's one of the shittiest things I've ever heard, since it appears that she wasn't interested in me as a student, but just as labor on that one project, because it was convenient (and my participation is what allowed her to keep that funding in the first place!).
As I told AdvisorB yesterday, I feel completely betrayed that AdvisorA is violating the traditional (though, admittedly, not universal) social contract that exists between graduate students and advisors. The social contract goes something like this: the student works insane hours for the advisor for many years, doing whatever she's told and helping to fulfill the promises made by the advisor to the funding agencies. The student gets paid very little and gets little out of the experience except, well, experience. Think "apprenticeship." In exchange, the advisor agrees to fund the student during that critical final year, when the student needs to be doing work not covered by grant money, like tie-everything-together work and write-the-thesis work, even though the advisor is no longer getting cheap high-quality labor out of the student during that year. This social contract guarantees several years of cheap labor for the advisor, while also guaranteeing that the student can afford to pay rent while she finishes her thesis and graduates.
Good system, eh? Except that a social contract isn't anything that's ever in writing. Students do their part for many years on the assumption that their advisor will hold up their end of the bargain when the final thesis push happens. But sometimes students (ahem, me) get screwed. I did my part, and now my advisor is essentially cutting me loose and refusing to fund me for my last year while I finish up.
I've had several conversations with AdvisorA since I last wrote about this situation, and I've come to the conclusion that she's not a liar and she's not sexist; she's just really stupid and irresponsible, and she's embarrassed about being stupid and irresponsible. She didn't plan ahead, she really is short on money right now, and she's guilty and embarrassed that she let it get this bad. In an effort to make herself feel better, she's lashing out at everybody else, desperately trying to find somebody else to blame for her poor planning. When she told me, "I shouldn't have to fund you now, because you took a leave of absence to have a baby, so you clearly don't care about academia," what she was really thinking was, "I should have planned better, but now I'm out of cash. I want to fund the students at my new university first, but then there will be nothing left for you. I totally saw this coming, but I forgot to plan ahead and do something about it. I'm stupid. But I don't want to admit to being stupid. Let me try to find a way to make this your fault, so that maybe you'll get upset and just walk away." Um, yeah.
Her latest suggestion: I should take another leave of absence from school, for the next year. I should spend the first three months working full-time for Boss Lady, during which time I would save as much money as I can, so that I will have money to live off of during the following year, when I'm not getting a stipend (or any other income). Then I should spend the rest of the year finishing my thesis at home, living off of the money that I made while working for Boss Lady. Then I re-enroll at school for just long enough to submit my thesis, paying my own tuition and still not receiving a stipend. In other words: I should postpone my graduation for several months, and I should fund my last year myself, leaving AdvisorA completely out of the equation. This is an excellent deal for her: she got her years of cheap labor out of me; she gets to list me as one of her academic children; but she doesn't have to do that annoying funding-my-thesis thing. It's a horrible, horrible deal for me: I have to work for several months on unrelated stuff that I'm not interested in, just to squirrel away some cash, after which I have to once again transition back into my thesis work; I have to do all of my last year from home, without much contact with other humans, because I won't be an official student; I'll graduate several months later than planned, which will make job hunting even harder; I'll take additional financial hits like my student loans coming due and my insurance going up, because I'll lose my "full-time student" designation, not to mention having to pay some amount of tuition out-of-pocket.
My search for a viable solution continues. AdvisorB talked to the head of our department, who is a highly influential and highly respected guy, and their current plan is to jointly call AdvisorA, remind her about the student-advisor social contract, and attempt to guilt her into funding me. (Yep, the current plan relies entirely on guilt as a solution.) Meanwhile, I'm applying for TA positions for the upcoming fall. And, in a nod to the kind of luck I've been having lately, almost all of the courses that I would remotely want to TA meet at times that will conflict with daycare pickup or drop-off times. I might end up having to TA, but I will apparently be the worst TA in the world, making life miserable for an entire class of undergraduates. Spread the misery.
Wednesday, June 24, 2009
Advisor A, continued
Continuing the story from here.
So, funding for the Fall and beyond was looking iffy, but AdvisorA was in town for a conference, so we agreed that we would talk about it in person. I hadn't been planning to attend the conference, but I arranged to drive to the conference, meet with AdvisorA between her sessions, and have S pick LL up at daycare, all so that I would have a block of time to talk with AdvisorA in person, for the first time in five months. When I got to the conference, I looked around for AdvisorA and couldn't find her. I finally found one of our colleagues, who informed me that AdvisorA had left the conference to do some personal errands, and wouldn't be back until the end of the day, in time to give a talk and then leave again. And no, she didn't bother to let me know, even though she knew that I was making a special trip just to talk with her.
So, I wasted a day sitting around waiting for her, because I wasn't allowed to attend the conference (mainly because AdvisorA didn't want to pay the registration fee for me) but I needed to be able to corner her in person and find another time to talk, whenever she managed to get there. At the very end of the day, I managed to get ~15 minutes with her. And that's when things fell apart.
The conversation had two parts. One part was about my progress, and one part was about money. On the "progress" side, she told me that she has been disappointed that I haven't been making more progress the past few months. And yes, I acknowledged to her that my progress has, indeed, been much slower than it used to be. (In the past, AdvisorA has mentioned on numerous occasions that I'm generally more productive than any student she'd ever worked with, and I'd already accomplished more by my third year than most PhD students accomplish by the time they graduate -- typically six years.) She tried to frame this as an argument that, as my advisor, she should only have to fund me for a fixed period of time, and if I'm too slow to graduate during that time, then it's my problem.
I reminded her that I'm still going to graduate in six calendar years, which is exactly average for someone who works straight through my program, but I'm actually faster (and cheaper!) than most because she has never before paid for my summers and she didn't have to pay for my maternity leave of absence. Basically, instead of working at 100% pace for six years, I worked at 130% pace for four years, took less than half a year off, worked at 50% pace for another half year, then plan on doing 100% for the last one. I understand that it sucks to be going through that 50%-output period right now, but I'm doing my best. And I would have thought that four years of 130% pace would have bought me a bit of good will.
She told me that she expected me to be back up to 130% as soon as I returned from maternity leave. And she expected me to have gotten some work done during the maternity leave as well. (??? No idea why should would have thought this. Especially since we discussed it at length several times during my pregnancy, because I wanted to be absolutely sure that there would be no misunderstandings on this point.) And then she commented that she discussed this with BossLady when they ran into each other a few weeks ago, and she implied that the two of them (and by extension, lots of other people) are disappointed with me right now. (I'm going to jump right by the fact that AdvisorA ran into BossLady, and the first thing she did was say, "Don't you think that Nicky is being really lazy recently?") I asked what BossLady said, because I couldn't believe that BossLady would have agreed with that sentiment, and AdvisorA admitted that BossLady had actually gently corrected her. (Apparently, BossLady laughed, shook her head, told AdvisorA that she's a moron for thinking that a woman with an infant would be back up to complete output anytime in the first year, and then spent some additional time praising me and telling AdvisorA how lucky she is to have me for a student. I'm not sure whether it helped or hurt, but it's nice to know that BossLady has my back.) So, given that AdvisorB is also extremely understanding about the situation, it's really only AdvisorA who has a problem with what's going on right now.
At one point, AdvisorA went on a rant about how silly it is that she should be inconvenienced because of my personal choices. As if everyone's personal choices don't inconvenience other people all the time. And as if having children was an odd, screwball thing that hardly anybody does. (And, what I definitely did not say out loud: as if her moving cross country didn't inconvenience me, too, but I just sucked it up and congratulated her and wrote her a recommendation to help her get the job anyway, because I believe that people need to do what's right for them with their personal lives. But whatever.)
And you know, I get that the world doesn't revolve around me, and having a baby is a choice that I made and I can't expect everyone to make lots of allowances just for me. But at the same time, I also believe that having a baby is a normal part of life, that it's the price you pay for employing human beings. And I'm also angry, because in my particular field, students take leaves of absence ALL THE TIME for other personal purposes, like starting a company or working somewhere for a year or traveling the world, and nobody blinks when they interrupt things to leave for several months and then come back and spend two months talking about it, before finally getting back to work. My leaving to have a baby isn't all that different, except that yes, I continue to take care of the baby even after I returned to work. But AdvisorA never had children, and just kept making side remarks about women and choices and careers and being taken seriously. And it pisses me off.
At this point, AdvisorA shifted the conversation to be purely about money. Ignoring all of the you're-not-productive-enough excuses that she'd just laid out, she now explained that she'd love to fund me, but she doesn't have money. "But I heard that you have money from X, Y, and Z?" Oh. Um. Correction. She has money, but she can't transfer it to my university. "But you've transferred it in the past, what's changed?" Oh. Um. Correction. She can transfer the money, but she loses a lot in the transfer, so she doesn't want to do it that way. "But I thought that you worked all of that out with AdvisorB last year, to make the transfer easier?" Oh. Um. Maybe. Then she changed arguments again, and started saying bland, generic things about the bad economy. And she said something about maybe I can just spend next year being a TA, or maybe I can find a rich friend to give me a grant (!). And then she had to leave.
So, right now, nothing is resolved. I have funding through September, but I have no idea what's going to happen after that. The backup backup plan is that I have to TA. The problem is that being a TA is a huge time suck. PhD students in my department are advised to get all of their TA responsibilities finished in the first few years, because they know that it is nearly impossible to make progress on a thesis while being a TA, so they don't want students having to teach during their final year or two. So, while being a TA for a semester would solve the funding problem for a semester, it doesn't actually solve anything long-term, because it would probably also push out my graduation date by a semester. TA or not, I will need one full year of non-teaching-contingent funding.
The backup backup backup plan would be that I officially take a leave of absence from school, so that nobody has to pay anything for me, but I actually keep working on my thesis during that time, and then I enroll for just one semester so that I can submit and defend the thesis. But this would mean not getting paid for a year, while still paying for childcare.
As for other suggestions: No, talking to my department chair or dean won't do any good, because AdvisorA doesn't work here anymore. She has lots of moral obligations to me, given our history and verbal agreements, but no real ones. She has every right in the world to stop working with me and focus on students at her own school. And no, transferring is not an option, either. I'm currently in (arguably) the best department in the country for my particular field, and I've spent five years working my butt off to get a PhD from here. There's nothing to gain from transferring this late in the process.
In a collision of bad timing, AdvisorB is on vacation right now, so I can't discuss all of this with him. For now, I'm hoping like hell that either AdvisorA will come to her senses and snap out of whatever shitty mood made her want to screw me over like this, or that AdvisorB will find a way to step in and resolve things. I've also started going through our personal finances very very carefully with S, to see exactly how horrible it would be for me to stop bringing home any income for a year while I finish. There are definitely some places where we could trim expenses, and between that and dipping into our savings, we could probably make it work for a limited amount of time. But I'm unbelievably bitter that we might have to do it that way.
In the middle of all of this, LL turned 9 months old, visited with his out-of-town cousins, went to the beach for the first time, ate his first cheerios, and sprouted three teeth. So a much happier post is on its way later in the week.
So, funding for the Fall and beyond was looking iffy, but AdvisorA was in town for a conference, so we agreed that we would talk about it in person. I hadn't been planning to attend the conference, but I arranged to drive to the conference, meet with AdvisorA between her sessions, and have S pick LL up at daycare, all so that I would have a block of time to talk with AdvisorA in person, for the first time in five months. When I got to the conference, I looked around for AdvisorA and couldn't find her. I finally found one of our colleagues, who informed me that AdvisorA had left the conference to do some personal errands, and wouldn't be back until the end of the day, in time to give a talk and then leave again. And no, she didn't bother to let me know, even though she knew that I was making a special trip just to talk with her.
So, I wasted a day sitting around waiting for her, because I wasn't allowed to attend the conference (mainly because AdvisorA didn't want to pay the registration fee for me) but I needed to be able to corner her in person and find another time to talk, whenever she managed to get there. At the very end of the day, I managed to get ~15 minutes with her. And that's when things fell apart.
The conversation had two parts. One part was about my progress, and one part was about money. On the "progress" side, she told me that she has been disappointed that I haven't been making more progress the past few months. And yes, I acknowledged to her that my progress has, indeed, been much slower than it used to be. (In the past, AdvisorA has mentioned on numerous occasions that I'm generally more productive than any student she'd ever worked with, and I'd already accomplished more by my third year than most PhD students accomplish by the time they graduate -- typically six years.) She tried to frame this as an argument that, as my advisor, she should only have to fund me for a fixed period of time, and if I'm too slow to graduate during that time, then it's my problem.
I reminded her that I'm still going to graduate in six calendar years, which is exactly average for someone who works straight through my program, but I'm actually faster (and cheaper!) than most because she has never before paid for my summers and she didn't have to pay for my maternity leave of absence. Basically, instead of working at 100% pace for six years, I worked at 130% pace for four years, took less than half a year off, worked at 50% pace for another half year, then plan on doing 100% for the last one. I understand that it sucks to be going through that 50%-output period right now, but I'm doing my best. And I would have thought that four years of 130% pace would have bought me a bit of good will.
She told me that she expected me to be back up to 130% as soon as I returned from maternity leave. And she expected me to have gotten some work done during the maternity leave as well. (??? No idea why should would have thought this. Especially since we discussed it at length several times during my pregnancy, because I wanted to be absolutely sure that there would be no misunderstandings on this point.) And then she commented that she discussed this with BossLady when they ran into each other a few weeks ago, and she implied that the two of them (and by extension, lots of other people) are disappointed with me right now. (I'm going to jump right by the fact that AdvisorA ran into BossLady, and the first thing she did was say, "Don't you think that Nicky is being really lazy recently?") I asked what BossLady said, because I couldn't believe that BossLady would have agreed with that sentiment, and AdvisorA admitted that BossLady had actually gently corrected her. (Apparently, BossLady laughed, shook her head, told AdvisorA that she's a moron for thinking that a woman with an infant would be back up to complete output anytime in the first year, and then spent some additional time praising me and telling AdvisorA how lucky she is to have me for a student. I'm not sure whether it helped or hurt, but it's nice to know that BossLady has my back.) So, given that AdvisorB is also extremely understanding about the situation, it's really only AdvisorA who has a problem with what's going on right now.
At one point, AdvisorA went on a rant about how silly it is that she should be inconvenienced because of my personal choices. As if everyone's personal choices don't inconvenience other people all the time. And as if having children was an odd, screwball thing that hardly anybody does. (And, what I definitely did not say out loud: as if her moving cross country didn't inconvenience me, too, but I just sucked it up and congratulated her and wrote her a recommendation to help her get the job anyway, because I believe that people need to do what's right for them with their personal lives. But whatever.)
And you know, I get that the world doesn't revolve around me, and having a baby is a choice that I made and I can't expect everyone to make lots of allowances just for me. But at the same time, I also believe that having a baby is a normal part of life, that it's the price you pay for employing human beings. And I'm also angry, because in my particular field, students take leaves of absence ALL THE TIME for other personal purposes, like starting a company or working somewhere for a year or traveling the world, and nobody blinks when they interrupt things to leave for several months and then come back and spend two months talking about it, before finally getting back to work. My leaving to have a baby isn't all that different, except that yes, I continue to take care of the baby even after I returned to work. But AdvisorA never had children, and just kept making side remarks about women and choices and careers and being taken seriously. And it pisses me off.
At this point, AdvisorA shifted the conversation to be purely about money. Ignoring all of the you're-not-productive-enough excuses that she'd just laid out, she now explained that she'd love to fund me, but she doesn't have money. "But I heard that you have money from X, Y, and Z?" Oh. Um. Correction. She has money, but she can't transfer it to my university. "But you've transferred it in the past, what's changed?" Oh. Um. Correction. She can transfer the money, but she loses a lot in the transfer, so she doesn't want to do it that way. "But I thought that you worked all of that out with AdvisorB last year, to make the transfer easier?" Oh. Um. Maybe. Then she changed arguments again, and started saying bland, generic things about the bad economy. And she said something about maybe I can just spend next year being a TA, or maybe I can find a rich friend to give me a grant (!). And then she had to leave.
So, right now, nothing is resolved. I have funding through September, but I have no idea what's going to happen after that. The backup backup plan is that I have to TA. The problem is that being a TA is a huge time suck. PhD students in my department are advised to get all of their TA responsibilities finished in the first few years, because they know that it is nearly impossible to make progress on a thesis while being a TA, so they don't want students having to teach during their final year or two. So, while being a TA for a semester would solve the funding problem for a semester, it doesn't actually solve anything long-term, because it would probably also push out my graduation date by a semester. TA or not, I will need one full year of non-teaching-contingent funding.
The backup backup backup plan would be that I officially take a leave of absence from school, so that nobody has to pay anything for me, but I actually keep working on my thesis during that time, and then I enroll for just one semester so that I can submit and defend the thesis. But this would mean not getting paid for a year, while still paying for childcare.
As for other suggestions: No, talking to my department chair or dean won't do any good, because AdvisorA doesn't work here anymore. She has lots of moral obligations to me, given our history and verbal agreements, but no real ones. She has every right in the world to stop working with me and focus on students at her own school. And no, transferring is not an option, either. I'm currently in (arguably) the best department in the country for my particular field, and I've spent five years working my butt off to get a PhD from here. There's nothing to gain from transferring this late in the process.
In a collision of bad timing, AdvisorB is on vacation right now, so I can't discuss all of this with him. For now, I'm hoping like hell that either AdvisorA will come to her senses and snap out of whatever shitty mood made her want to screw me over like this, or that AdvisorB will find a way to step in and resolve things. I've also started going through our personal finances very very carefully with S, to see exactly how horrible it would be for me to stop bringing home any income for a year while I finish. There are definitely some places where we could trim expenses, and between that and dipping into our savings, we could probably make it work for a limited amount of time. But I'm unbelievably bitter that we might have to do it that way.
In the middle of all of this, LL turned 9 months old, visited with his out-of-town cousins, went to the beach for the first time, ate his first cheerios, and sprouted three teeth. So a much happier post is on its way later in the week.
Monday, June 22, 2009
AdvisorA and AdvisorB
I've been trying to figure out how to write about my current sucky grad school situation, and I've decided that I need to break it down into two parts. Part One is below. Part Two, detailing the hideous conversation that I had last week with my advisor, will be forthcoming later in the week. I was going to write the whole thing today, but thinking about it still has me seeing spots and wanting to punch walls, so I'm breaking it into two. Today's installment is mostly background. Part Two will have the fireworks.
First, our cast of characters:
AdvisorA: my primary research advisor. I've been working with her for almost five years now. In the middle of this time, she decided that she wasn't happy at "my" university, and took a (tenured) job at a different university 3000+ miles away, so now we work together remotely, and she funnels funding for me back to my university. All of AdvisorA's students who were further ahead than me when she left have since graduated or dropped out, and all of her students who were behind me found new advisors when she left the university. I was the only one "on the bubble," so I'm now the only student that she still has here. AdvisorA is a late-career academic, married with no kids.
AdvisorB: When AdvisorA moved cross-country, I aligned with AdvisorB so that I would have somebody local to sign paperwork and bounce ideas around with in person. My research is not totally within his current field of expertise, but he's done some work in the area in the past, and he actually thinks that the work that I'm doing is very cool. Most of the entertaining advisor stories that I've told (like this one and this one) have been about AdvisorB. He is also very advanced in his career, never married, never had kids.
BossLady: Before starting grad school, I worked at a private research lab, where BossLady was my manager. I've continued to work there part-time during the academic year, and full-time during the summers, always reporting to BossLady. BossLady is probably more well-known and respected than AdvisorA, and the two of them have collaborated on projects together in the past, including the project that I've been doing with both of them for the past 5-6 years. BossLady is married and has two young children.
Background:
When AdvisorA announced that she was moving cross-country, I had long conversations about funding with both AdvisorA and AdvisorB. AdvisorA assured me that she would fund me as long as necessary, and her leaving our university wouldn't effect it at all. AdvisorB assured me that, should funding become a problem anyway, he would fund the end of my graduate career (the last year or so, while I was writing my thesis) on his own personal overhead funds. AdvisorA and AdvisorB and I all met together, and everyone was very cheerful and optimistic, and told me not to worry, because they had primary and backup funding plans in place, and everything would work out great.
When I announced that I was pregnant, I had more funding and graduation-timing conversations with all three of our players. Everybody was very cool and supportive. I even expressed some concern because the huge contract that had been paying for 95% of my graduate career was going to be running out, and I was worried about what project would provide me with funding for the last year or so, while I was working on my thesis. Everyone assured me that it was not a problem. The only person who was worried about money was BossLady, but I told her that I wouldn't have much time to do work for her for the next year, anyway, because I would be focused on writing my thesis, and AdvisorA backed me up and told BossLady that she would cover me for that last year, including paying me during this upcoming summer. Once again, the world was good.
Fast forward to last week. Out of the blue, I get an email from AdvisorA informing me that she couldn't afford to pay me for the summer. I asked her what had changed, and why she was letting me know so late, when it was too late to make alternate summer plans (eg, working for BossLady). She wouldn't give me a straight answer. I made enough noise that after a few days, she told me that she had "found" more money, and she'd pay me for the summer after all, as planned. But after years (yes, years!) of having no funding concerns, and being told repeatedly that my funding was secure, I was suddenly nervous. If AdvisorA was having problems for the summer, what was going to happen in the Fall and beyond?
I wasn't too worried yet, because I still had my backup plan: AdvisorB's overhead funds. So, I met with AdvisorB, and reminded him about his promise to fund my last year, if necessary, while I was writing the thesis. Three things came out of that meeting: (1) he thinks that I am perfectly on track to graduate next June, so we really are talking about just one year; (2) he has no money for me, because AdvisorA has so much available to her that AdvisorB didn't bother reserving any money for me; and (3) he didn't say so directly in these words, but he basically said that AdvisorA is lying if she's implying that she can't afford to pay for me. He knows that she can.
So, with my backup funding gone, and one more year in need of funding, I needed to have a detailed talk with AdvisorA. And as it happened, AdvisorA was in town last week for a conference. So, everything that has happened since then got to happen in person. Yippee.
More later.
First, our cast of characters:
AdvisorA: my primary research advisor. I've been working with her for almost five years now. In the middle of this time, she decided that she wasn't happy at "my" university, and took a (tenured) job at a different university 3000+ miles away, so now we work together remotely, and she funnels funding for me back to my university. All of AdvisorA's students who were further ahead than me when she left have since graduated or dropped out, and all of her students who were behind me found new advisors when she left the university. I was the only one "on the bubble," so I'm now the only student that she still has here. AdvisorA is a late-career academic, married with no kids.
AdvisorB: When AdvisorA moved cross-country, I aligned with AdvisorB so that I would have somebody local to sign paperwork and bounce ideas around with in person. My research is not totally within his current field of expertise, but he's done some work in the area in the past, and he actually thinks that the work that I'm doing is very cool. Most of the entertaining advisor stories that I've told (like this one and this one) have been about AdvisorB. He is also very advanced in his career, never married, never had kids.
BossLady: Before starting grad school, I worked at a private research lab, where BossLady was my manager. I've continued to work there part-time during the academic year, and full-time during the summers, always reporting to BossLady. BossLady is probably more well-known and respected than AdvisorA, and the two of them have collaborated on projects together in the past, including the project that I've been doing with both of them for the past 5-6 years. BossLady is married and has two young children.
Background:
When AdvisorA announced that she was moving cross-country, I had long conversations about funding with both AdvisorA and AdvisorB. AdvisorA assured me that she would fund me as long as necessary, and her leaving our university wouldn't effect it at all. AdvisorB assured me that, should funding become a problem anyway, he would fund the end of my graduate career (the last year or so, while I was writing my thesis) on his own personal overhead funds. AdvisorA and AdvisorB and I all met together, and everyone was very cheerful and optimistic, and told me not to worry, because they had primary and backup funding plans in place, and everything would work out great.
When I announced that I was pregnant, I had more funding and graduation-timing conversations with all three of our players. Everybody was very cool and supportive. I even expressed some concern because the huge contract that had been paying for 95% of my graduate career was going to be running out, and I was worried about what project would provide me with funding for the last year or so, while I was working on my thesis. Everyone assured me that it was not a problem. The only person who was worried about money was BossLady, but I told her that I wouldn't have much time to do work for her for the next year, anyway, because I would be focused on writing my thesis, and AdvisorA backed me up and told BossLady that she would cover me for that last year, including paying me during this upcoming summer. Once again, the world was good.
Fast forward to last week. Out of the blue, I get an email from AdvisorA informing me that she couldn't afford to pay me for the summer. I asked her what had changed, and why she was letting me know so late, when it was too late to make alternate summer plans (eg, working for BossLady). She wouldn't give me a straight answer. I made enough noise that after a few days, she told me that she had "found" more money, and she'd pay me for the summer after all, as planned. But after years (yes, years!) of having no funding concerns, and being told repeatedly that my funding was secure, I was suddenly nervous. If AdvisorA was having problems for the summer, what was going to happen in the Fall and beyond?
I wasn't too worried yet, because I still had my backup plan: AdvisorB's overhead funds. So, I met with AdvisorB, and reminded him about his promise to fund my last year, if necessary, while I was writing the thesis. Three things came out of that meeting: (1) he thinks that I am perfectly on track to graduate next June, so we really are talking about just one year; (2) he has no money for me, because AdvisorA has so much available to her that AdvisorB didn't bother reserving any money for me; and (3) he didn't say so directly in these words, but he basically said that AdvisorA is lying if she's implying that she can't afford to pay for me. He knows that she can.
So, with my backup funding gone, and one more year in need of funding, I needed to have a detailed talk with AdvisorA. And as it happened, AdvisorA was in town last week for a conference. So, everything that has happened since then got to happen in person. Yippee.
More later.
Wednesday, June 17, 2009
Follow-Up
I am extremely short on time, and while I have several long-ish things that I want to say, I wouldn't do them service if I were to try now. My brother, sister-in-law, neices, and nephew are all coming to visit (and stay with us!) later this afternoon, through Sunday. Yes, for five days, we're going to have four adults and four children all living in our little three bedroom house. It's going to be hectic. But sometime next week, after they're gone, I should really write an update on the shitty state of my graduate career, and my advisor's helpful suggestion that even though my department guarantees funding for all PhD students, all the way until they graduate, she believes that having a child should negate that guarantee, thereby forcing all PhD students who become mothers to drop out of the program. Um, yeah. And people wonder why there aren't more women in academia.
Anyway, my real topic for today is not my frakking advisor who has been lying to me for the past year and is suddenly threatening to make it difficult for S and me to pay our mortgage, for no good reason other than the fact that she never had children and therefore believes that nobody else should, either. No, my real topic is a follow up on this topic from last July. I wrote about my friends, T and H, who I heard, through a long and convoluted grapevine, were having fertility problems. They had never said anything to us, but starting when we announced that we were expecting, they had been avoiding us. Well, avoiding us, along with all of our pregnant or child-enabled friends, which is almost everyone they're friends with. I was trying to decide whether I should say something to H about infertility, offer sympathy, etc., but ultimately decided that I didn't know enough about their situation to bring it up.
Anyway, I know more now, so here's the happy conclusion to that story. Yes, T and H were having fertility problems. They are the only people we know who faced this particular problem other than us. In July, as I was trying to figure out whether to offer support of some kind, they were actually going through their first round of IVF. Happily, it was successful, and they are now the proud parents of a 2-month-old baby girl. After they announced their pregnancy, I had a very brief conversation with H about how infertility really really sucks, but she was much more interested in interrogating me about cloth diapers and car seats, which makes for a much happier conversation.
Yay! Sometimes the world is wonderful, eh?
More later about how I might be forced to drop out of school because my advisor has decided that she shouldn't have to fund students who are going to use their stipend, in part, to pay for daycare.
Anyway, my real topic for today is not my frakking advisor who has been lying to me for the past year and is suddenly threatening to make it difficult for S and me to pay our mortgage, for no good reason other than the fact that she never had children and therefore believes that nobody else should, either. No, my real topic is a follow up on this topic from last July. I wrote about my friends, T and H, who I heard, through a long and convoluted grapevine, were having fertility problems. They had never said anything to us, but starting when we announced that we were expecting, they had been avoiding us. Well, avoiding us, along with all of our pregnant or child-enabled friends, which is almost everyone they're friends with. I was trying to decide whether I should say something to H about infertility, offer sympathy, etc., but ultimately decided that I didn't know enough about their situation to bring it up.
Anyway, I know more now, so here's the happy conclusion to that story. Yes, T and H were having fertility problems. They are the only people we know who faced this particular problem other than us. In July, as I was trying to figure out whether to offer support of some kind, they were actually going through their first round of IVF. Happily, it was successful, and they are now the proud parents of a 2-month-old baby girl. After they announced their pregnancy, I had a very brief conversation with H about how infertility really really sucks, but she was much more interested in interrogating me about cloth diapers and car seats, which makes for a much happier conversation.
Yay! Sometimes the world is wonderful, eh?
More later about how I might be forced to drop out of school because my advisor has decided that she shouldn't have to fund students who are going to use their stipend, in part, to pay for daycare.
Monday, April 27, 2009
Infant Travel Issues
In early June (less than six weeks away!) we will be traveling cross-country for our college reunion. (Yes, S and I met in college. We actually met and became friends the very first week of freshman year. He asked me out early sophomore year, but I said no. Several months later, he asked again, and I caved in and said yes. Since we were friends for all of college, even before we were dating each other, we each know all of the other's college ex-boy/girlfriends. It's useful to have seen each other's dating history in person, because we both know that each other's past doesn't hold anyone at all interesting. For instance, S is totally confident that he's better than the guy I dated who's now an Ivy League law professor, since he remembers how that guy was kind of a jerk in college.)
Anyway, we'll be flying cross-country in a few weeks. The last time we traveled with LL was back in December, when he was roughly half as old as he is now. At that time, LL wasn't on much of a schedule yet, he was 100% breast fed, and he could sleep anywhere if we just popped him into a sling. We were staying with family, and we rarely left the house except to visit other family members, or for very short outings, by car, in between naps.
This trip is going to be very, very different. LL is older now, he's used to a set schedule of naps in his crib, and he's 100% bottle fed. While we do have a few friends in the area, we don't have any family members. We're going to be "out in the world" for much of the trip. The whole thing seems a lot more complicated.
We do have a few things working in our favor. One of my high school friends lives very close to my old campus, so we're staying with her, rather than in a hotel. And since she didn't go to college with us, and therefore won't be attending our reunion, she has agreed to babysit on a few of the evenings, so that S and I can go out with our college friends without needing to be home by LL's bedtime. She has also agreed to help us to round up some baby items (eg, a pack'n'play for LL to sleep in) so that we don't have to lug absolutely everything with us on the airplane. Still, there are several travel issues that I don't know to handle. Keep in mind that we're flying to a crowded major metro area, staying in a neighborhood that is a short commute away from the university, and spending our days mainly on a fairly urban (but wonderfully walkable) campus.
If anyone out there has experience with any of the above, I'd love to hear suggestions.
Anyway, we'll be flying cross-country in a few weeks. The last time we traveled with LL was back in December, when he was roughly half as old as he is now. At that time, LL wasn't on much of a schedule yet, he was 100% breast fed, and he could sleep anywhere if we just popped him into a sling. We were staying with family, and we rarely left the house except to visit other family members, or for very short outings, by car, in between naps.
This trip is going to be very, very different. LL is older now, he's used to a set schedule of naps in his crib, and he's 100% bottle fed. While we do have a few friends in the area, we don't have any family members. We're going to be "out in the world" for much of the trip. The whole thing seems a lot more complicated.
We do have a few things working in our favor. One of my high school friends lives very close to my old campus, so we're staying with her, rather than in a hotel. And since she didn't go to college with us, and therefore won't be attending our reunion, she has agreed to babysit on a few of the evenings, so that S and I can go out with our college friends without needing to be home by LL's bedtime. She has also agreed to help us to round up some baby items (eg, a pack'n'play for LL to sleep in) so that we don't have to lug absolutely everything with us on the airplane. Still, there are several travel issues that I don't know to handle. Keep in mind that we're flying to a crowded major metro area, staying in a neighborhood that is a short commute away from the university, and spending our days mainly on a fairly urban (but wonderfully walkable) campus.
- Last time we flew, LL nursed on take-off and landing, and slept the entire rest of the airplane ride. This time, none of that is likely to happen. We can make multiple bottles on the plane, but LL isn't really into the multiple-small-meals anymore, so I don't think that we'll be able to get him to eat during every pressure change. Does a pacifier work to relieve ear pressure, too? He also doesn't sleep as much anymore, and he gets antsy sitting on our laps for long stretches. How do you keep an 8-month-old from screaming on an airplane?
- How do you handle infant carseats and taxis? In my experience, lots of taxis don't have seat belts, and I've never looked for LATCH attachments.... How do you get a carseat secured in a taxi?
- If LL is in his infant car seat, then when we get where we're going, we can just put the carrier onto his stroller. But LL might have outgrown his infant seat by then. (He's getting really long.) But if he's in a convertible carseat instead, what do we do with it when we get out of the taxi? Lug it around the city all day?
- One possible carseat solution is to just leave the carseat behind and take public transportation everywhere, since this particular city has an excellent public transit system. But the city where we live right now has horrible public transit, so I've never navigated public transit with an infant, and I'm not sure what the protocol is. Am I correct in assuming that we can just hold LL on our laps on buses and subways? Any problem with lugging a stroller on public transit?
- LL is currently eating six bottles/day. We're hoping that he'll have dropped one of these by the time we go, but still... how many bottles do we pack? They're kind of bulky to put in a suitcase, no? But if we only bring a few, then we'll have to find somewhere to wash bottle parts during the day, when we're out of the house, and that seems awkward, too.
- Since LL started napping in his crib, we've never been "out" for an entire day. LL takes three naps/day, which keeps him happy and mellow. He's starting to occasionally skip his third nap, so he might have outgrown that one by the time we go, but we'll still want to make sure that he gets at least his two naps every day. What do we do to keep him on schedule? Stay home until both naps are done? Run out and back again between naps? Skip a nap and hope that he doesn't melt down too much? Cross our fingers that we'll get him to nap in his stroller, even though he's usually unwilling to nap if there's new stuff to see?
- We're facing a three-hour time change. LL is very very very used to his nap times and bedtimes. What do we do? I've seen a few suggestions, but I'm not sure if any of them work. Start transitioning him to the new time zone a few days before we leave? (Seems like it would be very tough.) Keep him up a lot that first day and try to transition him all at once? (Again, seems tough, because of the direction we're flying, and because of how very crabby he's likely to get.) Keep him on our home time zone, even though it will mean that he's waking and sleeping at odd times? This last one seems easiest, especially since we'll only be gone for four days, but I don't know if it works.
If anyone out there has experience with any of the above, I'd love to hear suggestions.
Monday, March 9, 2009
Thank You, Pump-In-Style, For Being So Discreet
Know how to freak out a young male computer scientist?
Say it's the middle of the morning, and you're walking out of your office carrying your Pump-In-Style, in its stylish black shoulder bag, cleverly disguising the pump, cones, milk cooler, etc., hidden inside. A colleague spots you exiting your office, and hurries to catch up with you. He says that he has a question that he really needs your help with, and is it okay if he walks with you so that he can tell you about it? Then he spots the black bag. It's too small to be a laptop... it's too big to be a purse..... He grows uncertain. He asks, "Where are you off to, anyway?"
Answer him honestly: "I was on my way to pump some breast milk!"
Then enjoy the awkward silence as he tries to decide whether you're still eligible to help him with his question. Observe with amusement how he suddenly can't quite figure out where to focus his eyes, and finally shifts his gaze to stare intently at a doorknob. (Read his really obvious thoughts as his brain chants over and over, "Don't look at her breasts! Don't look at her breasts! Don't look at her breasts!") Throw him a bone by suggesting that you talk to him later, then wait patiently while he desperately searches for an appropriate farewell. ("Okay, have fun! Umm.... I mean...... see you later, I guess.......")
So, next time... less honesty?
Say it's the middle of the morning, and you're walking out of your office carrying your Pump-In-Style, in its stylish black shoulder bag, cleverly disguising the pump, cones, milk cooler, etc., hidden inside. A colleague spots you exiting your office, and hurries to catch up with you. He says that he has a question that he really needs your help with, and is it okay if he walks with you so that he can tell you about it? Then he spots the black bag. It's too small to be a laptop... it's too big to be a purse..... He grows uncertain. He asks, "Where are you off to, anyway?"
Answer him honestly: "I was on my way to pump some breast milk!"
Then enjoy the awkward silence as he tries to decide whether you're still eligible to help him with his question. Observe with amusement how he suddenly can't quite figure out where to focus his eyes, and finally shifts his gaze to stare intently at a doorknob. (Read his really obvious thoughts as his brain chants over and over, "Don't look at her breasts! Don't look at her breasts! Don't look at her breasts!") Throw him a bone by suggesting that you talk to him later, then wait patiently while he desperately searches for an appropriate farewell. ("Okay, have fun! Umm.... I mean...... see you later, I guess.......")
So, next time... less honesty?
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