The new year at work has rocketed into action. It was a dizzyingly busy first week back in the office culminating in an eye-widening court appearance and a job interview for a prestigious but contract-only government job.
When I applied for that job I was still on maternity leave and dreading a return to the pressures and hours of a busy law firm practice. I assumed that because my submission never resulted in an interview while I was still on leave that I didn’t make the grade.
As it turns out, wheels in government turn painstakingly slowly. I ought to have known that from having government as a client on occasion. But. Government has never been my immediate world. The exception – a remote one at best – was some federal government contract research work I did before the brain injury, when graduate school loomed large on my horizon (and was the basis for the work in the year or so I planned to take between completing an undergraduate degree and entering a foreign PhD program.
Law school was the option others recommended and I pooh-poohed then with my not-so-clever retort that I was not about to become someone who donned a suit and begged for the loot. Ah, Life. Your flair for irony never ceases to amaze me.
At any rate, the interview went reasonably well. And brought out a wistful moment for if I have any hopes of pursing the “what if” of a third living child leaving my current place of employment is largely out of the question given the medication costs covered by my current benefits plan and those I am almost certain would not be covered under the government plan. Quite apart from that I am fairly confident I would desperately miss having a litigation practice and acting for clients rather than a judge and “the law”, writ large.
In many respects I envision the job for which I applied a stepping stone of sorts — a gateway to other “good government jobs.” Pity about the timing. Not to mention the tens of thousands of dollars (we don’t have) that I would be required to repay my current firm if I leave before one year after my return from maternity leave (you’ve got to love the cajones of private practice law firms, no? Yes this was a condition of my employment.).
I am still waiting to get a date for our consultation with the western Canadian fertility doc who I am hoping might consider working with Dr. Braverman should we (I) decide to pursue that big what if I wrote about here. Not much to report on this front except that the pangs of desire continue as do the pangs of anxiety and self-doubt about whether this is the path I am meant to follow.
On a happier more charming note I had a delightful night out with the almost-entirely female Board and entirely female staff of the playschool the MT attends recently. (Should I change his moniker here to Miracle Preschooler now? MP stands for Military Police and Member of Parliament where I’m from so to be honest that acronym has less appeal. MT he remains.) The company was purely delightful and reinforced my belief that we make the choices we make in part of free will and in part because of a master plan to which we signed on at some prior point in our spiritual existence (of which we may or may not be aware).
Once in a while my over-commitment pays off not only for others but for my karmic self. High fives to me for joining that Board.
And now I am up at some ridiculous hour with a baby Azulito who has a pitiable cough and a far less pitiable compulsion to play and further his attempts to master crawling. Or walking (he’s an equal opportunity kind of baby at this point). At 4 a.m.
Remind me why I’m considering another trip to hell and back in the hopes of having another child?