A Sad Tale

There is a man, a lawyer in his mid-thirties probably, but he looks older. He is slightly overweight and he is losing his hair. He wants to get back in shape at some point, but every time he looked at his receding hairline and progressively growing midriff in the past ten years he said to himself: "I don't have time. I work too hard. Once I make partner it will be different." Last year the partners at his medium-sized law firm in Manhattan decided that he was not ready to be one of them. He is still holding out hope though; if only he could prove that he is the most zealous, most hardworking, most eager, most everything - then they would let him be one of them.

Another deal - another chance. It is 9:30 pm, he gets some documents from the other party's lawyers. Those lawyers annoy him. One of them (a guy barely older than him) is a partner. He thinks that this partner is not nearly as good as him. The other one is some young woman with a foreign name he can't pronounce. He does not like to talk to anyone other than partners, he thinks that is a waste of his time. The previous night this woman called him and there was a baby crying in the background and he could tell she was not fully listening to him. How unprofessional, he thought.

After getting the documents, he reviews them. This is NOT ACCEPTABLE! - he says it outloud. His client will be very happy with him if he pushes back, but they also wanted to close the deal that day. By now it is 11:20 p.m. He MUST do something. He leaves messages to the other partner, even the young woman lawyer. He can't get through to anyone. He feels like the fate of the deal now rests on his shoulders. He sends documents to the other lawyers, their client and his client at 1:05 a.m. He wants a response as soon as possible. Then he sits and waits. 10 minutes pass by. He researches some hair growth products on the internet. 45 minutes pass by. No response. Nobody truly cares but him. He feels lonely and unappreciated. At around 2:00 a.m. he gives up and decides to go home. He sends a last email with his cell phone number and instructions that in any case there should be a call FIRST THING in the morning.

He is up at the crack of dawn. It was a restless night. He kept listening for the buzzer of his blackberry hoping that someone, anyone would acknowledge him. He ends up getting out of bed and checking it at 7:00 a.m. Nothing. He goes to the office. A couple of hours later he finally gets an email from his client, but it is addressed to everyone. The call does not happen till 11 a.m. so he is aware that to the others it might seem like his late night emails and phone messages had been in vain. This makes him uncomfortable for a moment, but then he brushes away those thoughts and assertively marches in to the office of a junior associate he never particularly liked to give him some proofreading to do for the Labor Day weekend.

Different Cloths

I had a glimpse into what it would be like to be a single working mother this week and I am sure glad I don't have to be one. David was away last weekend and the first three days of the week. I had a lot of help (his parents dame to watch Eli one day and Cindy and her mother also were here to babysit), but even so I felt overwhelmed.

Of course, having a job that will not leave you even if you physically leave the office doesn't help. I could not even fully enjoy being with Eli in the evening. Every buzz of my blackberry after arriving home just increased my stress level and I was not able to give my undivided attention to either my baby or my work. I could go on about the difficulty of reconciling a child with a career and how hard it is for women to have it all...but I don't want it "all." This job is not a component of "it all" for me.

This, of course, is not true for all women in the law firm world. A female lawyer from another firm whom we worked with on a deal recently went back to work six weeks after having her baby. And even during those six weeks she dialled in to conference calls. Apparently, my boss commented on the difference between her and me by saying that "those two are cut from a different cloth." That is true. I know which cloth is better for them, but I am pretty happy not to be made of that.

First, Second...Third?

Last couple of nights I did not get to see my baby because of work. I left before 9 p.m. both days (pretty early by local standards), but I understood why parents with bad working schedules try to keep their babies up late. My partner did apologize for keeping me here, which is nice considering that everyone else (including my friend M.) was here until the wee hours. They must resent me. I would resent me for sure. They are kind enough not to be open about it though.


I just realized that I never write about Eli anymore, which is strange because I am still mainly preoccupied with him and his bodily functions. Last Friday was the first night Eli and I spent the night without David who had to go away for work to the exotic city of Indianapolis. I got to schlep my little boy around on my own again all weekend like in the old times...it was sweet, I appreciated this time with him that much more now that I am working. I am not noticing any personality changes caused by my extended absence. All this week our neighbors' nanny, a 22-year-old girl from El Salvador with the quintessantial "nanny rack" (the giant breasts, combined with a wide upper body and a smily round face seem to be common characteristics of child care providers in our hood) is watching him and he seems to be having a great time with her. He is still delighted to see me if and when I do get home (the first couple of days I got squeals of delight, but now the squeals have faded into friendly laughter and smiling), but he seems like he had not thought about me until the moment he sees me walking through the door.

Right now I am anxious because my agreed, regular leaving time is approaching quickly (it is 5:49 p.m.) and I was really hoping to see my boy tonight. You will definitely hear from me if there is a Third. If you don't that is good news. Suspense.