Not Ready for Mom Jeans (31 page)

She looked from me to the desk quickly and sat down. “Sure,” she said. “So what’s going on?”

“It’s been crazy around here. I just started a new project, so there’s been a few late nights already,” I said, and crossed my arms over my chest.

“I hear ya. So—hey! Are you married?” she said, and grabbed my left hand.

“Yep, few years now,” I said, and jiggled my ring finger.

“Wow, I wouldn’t have guessed,” she said, and released my hand and sat back in her chair. She took a long sip from her drink and said, “So what part of the city do you live in?”

I laughed. “Haven’t lived in the city for a while now. I did right out of college, though. Loved it. Just got ready to move to a bigger place.”

“So you live in the …” She paused and whispered, “Suburbs?”

“Unfortunately,” I said, and smiled. “But it is nice with my daughter to have the extra room. She just started crawling.”

Keri’s mouth dropped open and she looked like her head was going to explode. “
You
have a
kid
?”

OK, now I really felt ancient.

“She’s eight months old,” I said proudly.

“Whoa,” Keri said, and sipped on her drink. She paused, narrowed her eyes at me, and said, “So how old are you?”

“I’m twenty-nine,” I said.

“Really? I thought you were much younger,” she said.

I wasn’t sure if that was a compliment or an insult, so I just said, “Most people do.”

“That must be weird, I mean, for people to think you’re younger when you have a baby,” Keri mused.

“Sometimes people ask me if I’m my daughter’s babysitter,” I said, and leaned against Keri’s desk.

“I bet,” she said thoughtfully.

“And the dishwasher repairman the other day said not to forget to tell my parents what’s wrong with the rinse cycle,” I added.

We sat in silence for a moment while Keri pondered my evidently well-hidden adulthood and I pondered the great divide between us before I quickly straightened.

“So, let’s plan on having lunch together in a few hours, OK?” I said, and she nodded.

I walked back to my office and sat down at my desk. According to her résumé, Keri graduated from college a year ago. That would make her about twenty-two or twenty-three. Only about six years younger than me.

Six years ago, I wasn’t even married yet.

Six years ago, my choices were vast, the waters of my path unchartered.

Six years ago, I knew what the hippest clubs were, I knew when the hottest restaurants opened, I lived in the city, wore designer clothes, and went out every night.

Six years later, I prefer restaurants like Applebee’s, since Sara can have a meltdown without anyone really caring; most of my clothes are crusted with either baby food, drool, or spit-up; and last night I fell asleep at 9:00 p.m.

I’m not even a cool working mom, with a fantastically awesome phone and teeny-tiny laptop. Nope, I probably have more in common with Mule Face these days than Keri.

I used to be Hip Clare. Now, thanks to a few extra Sara pounds still lingering, I’m Hippy Clare.

It’s official. The transformation is complete.

Wednesday, September 17

Jake, sensing my growing frustration, decided we needed a night out together, as people rather than parents, so he took me out to dinner last night. A chance to go out together without worrying about who was going to have to change the diaper explosion halfway through the first drink. A chance to stop and catch my breath—especially timely since Elise is bringing her daughter Logan in tomorrow and I’d like to be somewhat presentable.

Marianne babysat, which Jake and I paid for with a tiny corner of our sanity, of course. The important thing is we got to spend a night out together, as adults.

Marianne arrived at our apartment, and before I could even take her coat she started waltzing around our place, pointing out uncovered sharp surfaces and kicking invisible bits of dust with her toe. She also admonished me for dressing Sara in a blue creeper, since it made her look like a boy, apparently. And girls should always “look like the little princesses that they are.” Whatever. It was a free babysitter.

Jake and I went to one of those supercliché fondue restaurants. I always kind of laughed at the people who go to those, but seeing as how our favorite restaurants are of the chainlike variety and usually give out free balloons at the front door, a fondue restaurant seemed right up our alley.

Ah, how the mighty have fallen.

Thanks to the wobbly flesh still sitting around my midsection, low-rise jeans and tight-fitting tops don’t exactly fit the same way, so I dressed up by wearing my favorite pair of heels. I still have hope that the muffin top will go away, but Reese insists it’s permanent, regardless of weight. She said it’s a well-kept secret of motherhood. I look at her tiny body, perfect once again after having Brendan just a short while ago, and secretly want to feed her a few doughnuts.

I figured Jake and I would spend the evening chatting about the latest non-fiction bestsellers, current world events, our ideas for an exit strategy in Iraq, the upcoming presidential elections, and our predictions for the Oscars next year.

Right.

We talked about Sara. We talked about how cute she is. We talked about how big she is. We talked about who she looks like more. We talked about how long her naps are. We talked about winning the lottery and buying her a pony and a life-sized Barbie dream house. And we lamented about how much we missed her.

And then I started talking about how difficult everything has become. How I feel like I’m sucking at everything—my job, motherhood, marriage.

Everything.

How the weight of all of the expectations that surround me is surely going to bring me down.

And Jake said: “I love you and I think you’re doing amazing.”

As I looked at him and nodded, I realized he truly meant it. That he believed it.

“It’s so hard, because I feel like I have to choose a team. Whatever I do. And whatever team you’re on, that’s your allegiance, that’s who you root for. It’s like you can’t root for the White Sox and the Cubs at the same time. If I stay home with Sara, I feel like I will still identify with working moms more,” I said.

Jake looked at me critically. “Really?”

I nodded as I twirled my water glass on the table. “It’s like to convince yourself you’ve made the right decision, you have to inherently believe that the other choice is the wrong one.”

Jake shook his head and reached across the table, covering my hand with his. “Whatever you choose will be right.”

I smiled ruefully at him. “I hope so. I just don’t want to feel like I’m letting myself down—in my career or as a mom. I want to give myself fully to Sara, but I can’t let myself disappear.”

Jake and I drove home from the restaurant and I ripped open the door, ready to kick Marianne out and resume my rightful place as Sara’s caretaker. She was already asleep when we got home, and even though Jake told me not to, I crept into her room and gave her a soft pat as she slept. I froze and held my breath as she stirred, but she only sighed softly and went back to her dreamland. I stayed in Sara’s room while Jake escorted Marianne out. I watched Sara breathe in and out and wanted so badly to touch her soft curls.

Jake appeared behind me, whispered “We love you” to Sara, and pulled me out of the room. We fell asleep like ten minutes later.

Although our date night wasn’t what I expected, and admittedly the best part was coming home to Sara, I’ve reasoned since she’s part Jake, part me, my constant longing to be with her is the most romantic thing ever.

Thursday, September 18

“Clare, this is my daughter Logan,” Elise said proudly as she put her arm around a short, chubby girl standing next to her.

“Nice to meet you, Logan,” I said, and smiled at her.

Logan smiled back and fidgeted with the hem of her private school uniform.

“Let’s all sit down in here,” I said, and gestured toward my office. “Can I get you guys anything to drink?”

Logan shook her head and Elise said, “Pellegrino, if you have it.” Thankfully, I had remembered an article on Elise mentioning her favorite drink being Pellegrino, so I stocked the fridge accordingly. I know how important it is to always keep a client happy.

“Of course, just one moment.” I poked my head out of the office and nodded at Keri, who appeared with a bottle of the sparkling water and a glass. Thankfully, so far, she took direction well. At least she remembered that a head nod during this meeting translated to: “Pellegrino and a drinking apparatus.”

“Great,” Elise said, and raised her eyebrows, obviously impressed.

“So, Logan, since this is your party, don’t hesitate to interrupt me and give me your opinion on something. Everything I’ve mocked up can be changed or altered if you want something different. So please speak up,” I said to her, and she smiled.

I went into the pitch I gave Elise. I covered everything from the theme, linens, and sculptures to the food, drinks, and music. I brought up the video montage and Logan interrupted me.

“I want my friend Tim to do the video,” she said.

“Oh, OK. Does he have experience?” I said.

“Yes. He’s the greatest,” she said firmly.

I didn’t look at Elise. I didn’t want Logan to sense I was undermining her, so I looked down and wrote down a note until Elise spoke up.

“We’ll have to talk about that,” Elise said as her mouth set into a thin line.

“Mo-om, I—,” Logan started to say as her cheeks flushed.

“Later,” Elise repeated, and Logan fell silent.

“So how does everything else sound, Logan?” I asked her as I leaned back in my chair.

“Good, yeah. I like it,” she said, and nodded.

“Great! I’ll get started then. If you both could work on the invitation list, that would really help,” I said.

“Sounds good,” Elise said, and stood up. I started to walk them to the door when Elise stopped and turned around. “I’ve been meaning to ask you, any relation to Michael Finnegan?”

I smiled at her. “He’s my father.”

“Really? He’s my doctor,” she said. “We’ve been going to him for years. He’s such a great doctor,” she gushed.

I wasn’t surprised my dad had never mentioned Elise was a patient. He usually takes patient confidentiality to the utmost degree. He could be treating Osama bin Laden, for all we know.

“He is, he is,” I said to her.

“Please tell him I said—,” Elise started to say.

“Elise! Do you know Jim Kantore? The dentist? He’s my uncle!” Mule Face called from her office. She appeared in the hallway in front of Elise.

“No, I’m afraid I don’t,” Elise said, bewildered.

“So, anyway, I’ll work on those figures and e-mail them over,” I said to Elise, putting my hand on her shoulder and stepping between her and Mule Face. Just as Elise and Logan reached the front door, Logan dropped her backpack and her school books tumbled out in a flash of paper and hardcovers.

“Oh!” Logan said. Elise and I kneeled down to pick up the books.

I held a well-worn paperback in my hand. “
To the Lighthouse
by Virginia Woolf.” I looked at Logan and smiled. “I loved this book in high school.”

“It’s my favorite book,” Logan whispered, and took the book from my hands.

“It was mine, too,” I whispered back. I turned to Elise. “I’ll send that e-mail today.”

“I’ll look for it,” she said.

Logan beamed at me and waved before she and Elise walked out. I straightened my suit a little and squared my shoulders a tiny bit before I walked back to my desk. A renewed feeling of energy began to zap through me, reminding me a tiny bit of why I like my job and restocking the well of motivation.

Within seconds, Mule Face appeared at my office door, holding a large sleeve of French fries.

“What book was it?” she said as she pushed three fries into her mouth.

“To the Lighthouse,”
I said as I reapplied lipstick with my compact.

“Huh. Never heard of it. Sounds boring,” she said, and walked back to her office.

I smiled at my reflection in the mirror, mentally adding another book for Sara’s collection.

Friday, September 19