Cindy
Droog
Read Cindy's bio and previous columns
December 10, 2007
Large, But Not in
Charge
When I woke up this
morning, I knew it was Tuesday. It wasn’t until about 2 p.m. that I
figured out it was Wednesday. Around that time, I went to a meeting. In
the wrong conference room. Thankfully, I escaped before they decided to
assign me something.
I have a condition.
It’s called nine-months-pregnant.
Just a few short
weeks ago, the last thing I wanted to hear was, “Wow! Look at you!
You’re all baby!” I assumed that meant: You have no other womanly shape
about you any more. You are a lump.
But now, I’m
embracing that statement. I have accepted what it really means. I am all
baby, and therefore, no brain. I know it won’t last. I know I must have
about half of my brain left, because I’ve managed to navigate my way
from work to daycare to pick up my son without getting lost, forgetting
to buckle his seatbelt or making sure his favorite truck stays in my
backseat.
As for the other
half, it hasn’t been easy for me to admit that its disappearing act is
real. I’ve always prided myself on staying balanced, on not experiencing
things like cycle-related mood swings, the split personality associated
with my Gemini zodiac sign or the tendency to act crazy based on the
alignment of the moon or the planets.
So, when I started
to lose my mind over the past four weeks, I thought . . . well, I just
didn’t. I stopped that wild thing called “thought” and simply embraced
things that were routine with all my might. And, I’ve grown to
appreciate them more.
For example, I used
to get bored reading the same book to my toddler eight or nine times in
a row. Now, in the last few weeks of pregnancy, there isn’t one single
thing I can think of that I’d rather be doing. I know the words. I know
the pages he’ll want to stop at, and the pages he’ll turn before I’m
done reading them.
I no longer prod
him, “Is there a different book you want Mommy to read?” Nope. I just
happily repeat.
At work, I still
show up early. I still go to meetings. I still do my job every single
day. I’ve had trouble going above and beyond my call of duty lately,
which bothered me tremendously at first. But what I’ve realized is that
there is beauty in this familiarity, in the nothing-but-mundane days
where I say good morning to a group of people I truly enjoy spending 50
hours a week with. To a boss who likes work to be fun when it can be. To
my messy, seemingly chaotic cubicle and my office-brand coffee. (It’s no
Starbucks. But it works.)
Maybe I am giving in
to hormones a little. Perhaps I’m preparing myself for the amazing flood
of love that pours out the first time you see a new baby by looking
around my current environment, sans newborn, and realizing that I have a
whole lot of other things to be thankful for.
I swear I’m not
planning to wrap any of my coworkers into a little blankie,
burrito-style as my husband and I call it, and snuggle them in the
middle of the night. And tears of joy probably won’t run down my face,
and I probably won’t call my grandmother in Ohio to tell her the news
when an invitation to join a new project team gets sent my way.
But I do love my
job. My coworkers. My company. I’ve realized that it can be a little too
easy, too tempting, to use a Working Mom column to vent frustration. So
call it hormones. Call it pending birth. Call it, as I jokingly did last
week, being “large, but not in charge.” Of my emotions.
Or call it what I’ve
decided to this week: A welcome change of heart that – the longer I can
hold on to it, just like that newborn – the better.
Editor’s Note: We
are very pleased to announce that Cindy Droog gave birth to a healthy
Alec Thomas Droog on November 20, 2007. Alec, Cindy, dad Tom and big
brother Anthony are all doing well.
© 2007 North Star Writers
Group. May not be republished without permission.
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