Entry 4:

Hanna-- 

A very productive afternoon. I piled The Little Boy into his car seat, under multiple layers of fleece and flannel, and met up with Will at a downtown day-care center--one of the many centers sponsored by federal agencies. I had put my name on their waitlist (and about seven others) practically the moment I found out I was pregnant. Based on the experience of friends, I knew that even that would be no guarantee, and about a month ago I made some phone calls to see where things stood. The news was grim everywhere. Twenty-sixth on the list. No openings expected until summer. Short-staffed in the infant room, so no new babies, period. I had begun to resign myself to the enormous expense (and, honestly, discomfort) of hiring a nanny. And then, out of nowhere, this place called wanting to know if I was still interested. A former colleague of mine has sent her son there since he was a baby and couldn't speak highly enough about them. I had visited last March and came away with a good impression, but at that point I hardly knew what to look for. Anyway, I jumped at the spot and came away after this visit reassured that they were going to provide very good care.

So Eli will "phase in" over a two-week period in February, and I will go back to work. This is not over any missionary zeal for my job but because, much as I love my son, and much as I've enjoyed being home the last several months, I do think I would go insane if I were honest-to-God home full-time. Or, as I was joking with someone recently, I don't want to go back to work, but I don't want to stay home either.

What do you think you and David are going to do?

(Speaking of Dr. Sears, I'm ready to shoot the guy. Sure, I'm using the sling, just as he recommends. It's supposed to let me go about my business while providing my young one with contact and reassurance and stimulation. Right? Well, at this exact moment, Eli is sitting in the sling, facing out, while I type. And he's yelling his head off every time I sit down. What the hell good is it if I have to stay in motion?)

Yes, I had heard about Laura Bush's dressmaker--some Texan and, judging by the looks of it, heavily influenced by the English guy who did all of Margaret Thatcher's suits. Fair game is what I say. It's not like there weren't plenty of cheap shots directed at Bill Clinton's fat thighs or Al Gore's bald spot. And I'm feeling pretty mean-spirited about it too. If I had to endure endless commentary on Hillary's hair, all those Republicans are just going to have to sit there and take it while Laura's fashion sense is ridiculed. As for the rest of us, I'm not worried about a big-hair trend in Washington. This place is going to continue to look the way it always has, which is basically boring. That being said, I'm interested in the whole phenomenon of a change in administration.  I've only ever lived here in the Clinton years. Does much really change--that is, for those of us who aren't political appointees or the people who socialize with them?

I have read some of the parenting magazines, mostly in waiting rooms. And my sister brought me an armload right after Eli was born--her hairdresser was disposing of them. If you read enough of them, you discover that yes, in fact, they do recycle the same stories ("Twenty Healthy Snacks Your Tot Will Love," "Discipline: When 'No!' Is Not Enough," "Shed Those Pregnancy Pounds Fast"). I found they just increased the number of things I was worried about.

I gotta go feed this kid. Make sure you put a hat on that little girl before you go out in this weather!

Martha

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