Not Ready for Mom Jeans

Also by Maureen Lipinski

A Bump in the Road: From Happy Hour to Baby Shower

NOT READY FOR
MOM JEANS

MAUREEN LIPINSKI

Thomas Dunne Books
St. Martin’s Griffin  
  New York

This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

THOMAS DUNNE BOOKS.
An imprint of St. Martin’s Press.

NOT READY FOR MOM JEANS
. Copyright © 2010 by Maureen Lipinski. All rights reserved. Printed in the United States of America. For information, address St. Martin’s Press, 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, N.Y. 10010.

www.thomasdunnebooks.com
www.stmartins.com

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Furnished upon Request.

ISBN 978-0-312-53728-9

First Edition: June 2010

10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

For my mother

Acknowledgments

Where to begin?

To my agent, Holly Root: Thank you for always using exclamation points in your e-mails and for making me laugh, no matter what news you deliver. Your editorial eye and chill demeanor are the perfect combination. You are a slave driver, in the best possible way.

To everyone at Thomas Dunne Books and St. Martin’s: Katie Gilligan, thank you for being so real and down-to-earth, your suggestions and edits for this book were spot-on and invaluable; Katy Hershberger, you are sent from the heavens above by the PR gods; and copyeditor Barbara Wild, thank you for your keen hawk-eye.

I did this for the first book, so one more time: Thank you to all of my friends, especially my college roommates Barrie, Carrie, Sheryl, and Pam. Yes, a fair amount of our hilarious nights made it into this book, too. Seriously, drinks on me, if only because I need some new material.

Thank you to everyone who supported my first book and helped make my “debut” year the best of my life, especially Lisa Ackeret, Jillian Cantor (whose daily e-mails keep me sane), Kristin Celing, Stephanie Elliot, Jill Williams Krause of Baby Rabies, Jen Lancaster, Lesley Livingston, Tracy Madison, Lisa Patton, and Amy Sprenger. You guys rule.

To the whole extended Leurck family: Thank you for your unending support. Each of you enriches my life in a different way. My life is better with all of you in it. Once again, I’m so lucky to have in-laws that are nothing like Clare’s!

A huge amount of gratitude for my family: Mom, Dad, Patrick, Mary Claire, and Chris. Thank you for always believing in me and for never rolling your eyes when I ask you to babysit. I love you guys!

Kevin, thank you for being my rock through the crazy roller-coaster that is publishing and for always reminding me of the cost of not pursuing my dreams. You are my everything.

And to my big baby boy, Ryan. Thank you for giving all of this meaning. You always make me laugh and keep me grounded, especially when you throw a tantrum in a public place, such as a bookstore during a signing. I pray that you always stay hilarious, independent, and free-spirited.

Hush, little Sara, don’t you scream,

Aren’t we supposed to be on the same team?

It’s after midnight and Mama’s gotta sleep,

Would you like a new pretty Jeep?

Your cries give Mama a hunch

That she’ll get into the office sometime around lunch.

Please let’s not make this a fight,

You’re just going to have to sleep through the night.

Because Mama’s gotta go back to her job

And your screams are making her head throb.

Mama would really love it if you could learn

To only cry when it’s your dad’s turn.

Monday, March 10

4:00 A.M.

I am so incredibly screwed.

In four hours I’m supposed to shower, apply makeup, and put on pants that have an actual zipper on the front and aren’t a cotton-Lycra blend. I’m supposed to leap out of bed, get ready, and appear at work as though I’m the same woman who left a mere ten weeks ago.

Sara was also supposed to start sleeping through the night at eight weeks, or so said all of those worthless infant books.

Yet here I am, awake. Feeding my two-month-old daughter while blankly staring at an infomercial of Erik Estrada peddling vacation property in Arkansas. And wondering how in the hell I’m supposed to do this working mom stuff.

It finally happened. The sand ran out of the hourglass.

My maternity leave is over.

The panic began three weeks ago, when I realized I was due back at work soon and Sara still only slept in two-hour stretches. My panic took me to the bookstore, where I bought every book remotely referencing “sleeping through the night.” Jake and I devoured them in one sitting. We excitedly read the “real stories” about infants who slept for six hours after being swaddled and rocked to sleep. Or the infants who slept through the night after being allowed to fuss for a mere fifteen minutes. We were
sure
Sara would be another success story. We’d give her a tiny crown and a sash that read, “Miss Grand Supreme Super Sleeping Through the Night Champion.”

But, as most parents know, everything we tried had the opposite effect.

Swaddling: So difficult and frustrating that Jake and I argued over the optimal snugness. Not to mention the second we’d tuck her in, her limbs would shoot out like water cannons and we’d have to start all over again.

Rocking: Helped her to fall asleep, but only if the motion continued. So I’d be stuck in that damn chair for hours, contemplating the theory of quantum physics, the meaning of the show
Lost,
and other topics that seem really intriguing around 3:00 a.m.

And the minutes of fussing followed by hours of sleeping? Sure, worked like a charm. She’d scream her head off for forty-five minutes and then sleep for twenty before waking up and repeating the cycle.

Thanks,
Sleeping like a Baby: Healthy Strategies for a Good Night’s Sleep,
the $22.95 I spent on you was so worth it.

I would’ve been better off spending $22.95 on a nice big bottle of Jim Beam. Washed down with a couple of the narcotic painkillers left over from her delivery.

In Dante’s
Inferno,
the sinners were given horrible punishments based on their earthly sins. I’m starting to believe that this is my punishment for sleeping until noon pre-baby as a snake pit sounds pretty good about now. Maybe I could take a quick nap before being bitten to death.

Since none of the “miracle sleep cures” worked, Jake and I gave up and resigned ourselves to getting up every two hours to feed her. Then, a week ago, something magical happened: Sara slept for five hours.

In a row. Consecutively.

Jake and I nearly died.

Her sleep continued to improve slowly until yesterday, when Sara pulled out her picket sign and chanted, “Hey hey, ho ho! This sleeping stuff has got to go.”

Good-bye, sleep.

Hello, Erik Estrada. And hello to my first day back at work.

9:00 A.M.

Sara finally went to sleep sometime around dawn. Of course she only fell asleep after I woke Jake up and he took over. I roused him by violently shaking him and hissing, “She won’t sleep. Get up. Get up now. Get up before I throw myself out the window.”

“I’m so sorry … didn’t even wake up … totally unfair to you … your first day … so sorry … I suck,” he mumbled as he stumbled out of bed.

“Just take her,” I said as I handed Sara to him.

“I’m the worst husband ever,” he muttered before he nearly head-butted the door and spilled out into the hallway. I collapsed into bed and slept dreamlessly for an hour and a half until my alarm went off.

“Are you going to be OK?” Jake asked me as I stood in front of my closet. He held Sara against his chest as she made little gurgling noises. He was dressed in a pair of khaki pants and a blue polo shirt—perfect for his job in IT sales: professional but not too stuffy. I joke that he always forgets his pocket protector until he reminds me that nerds will rule the world someday. I want to be one of the Chosen Saved Ones, so I don’t jest anymore.

I gave him a pitiful look and sighed. “I think so.” I plucked a seemingly huge pair of black pants off my shelf. The waistband seemed sized for Miss Piggy after a Twinkie binge.

Jake stepped forward and put his right arm around me and pulled me close. “Everything will be fine. You’ll have a great day. It’s just hard now.”

I nodded into his T-shirt as I tried to remember all of the reasons why I love my job. Yet with my infant daughter cooing in my ear, I only wanted to remain by her side. The cocoon of my husband and daughter thinly surrounded me, and I wanted its delicate strands to never break apart.