I heart my writing class. I frickin' heart it, you know? (Yes, I'm taking a writing class.) Suddenly, outlining makes sense again. I had reached a point where the complexity of my thoughts and arguments overwhelmed the dinky little outlining strategies I'd learned in high school. Now it's as though I've been issued outlining version 2.0--an update long overdue.

So, anyway, I'm going to sit here drinking my bowl of coffee--accidental excess of coffee brewed today--and contemplate my satisfaction with my current writing projects and, y'know, life in general.

Smug. It tastes great!

Sleepy today after another long night with toddler son. Kid just wants to nurse, nurse, nurse. The more I put my foot down and try to nurse him less at night, the more time he wants to spend nursing by day. If I put my foot down there, too, I wind up with a kid who spends a huge amount of his time, day and night, whining and crying and clinging. And lately, as I continue to steamroll him with my desire to move towards weaning, his cries have started to sound less loud and annoyed (as had been typical for him), and more soft and oh-so-sad.

I spent some time over lunch (cornmeal-breaded tofu, roasted sweet-potato wedges, kale, garlicy barbeque sauce, then frosted banana cake) researching the matter. I am relieved to find he is really quite normal. He simply isn't ready to wean, and I am making things harder not only on him but on myself by trying to force him to wean early. His sleeping pattern (waking about every 3 hours to nurse) is also completely normal for a breastfeeding, co-sleeping toddler (which is to say, most of the toddlers on planet earth).

The problem really isn't him. It isn't even feeling tired--honestly, most of my missed sleep at night comes when I argue with the kid over nursing and periodically send him to timeout for yelling too much. The problem is the normal one of comparison and fear of failure. No one else that I am personally acquainted with has a kid who behaves like this. And when the differences would come up in conversation, other people reacted in horror to my situation ("you still sleep with him? you still nurse him every few hours at night?"), thereby causing it to become an Issue in my own mind.

The rest has followed from that.

So tonight I am going to go back to following my own instincts, and cuddle and nurse the kid freely throughout the night, whenever he wants. I'm not going to argue with him over how long or how often. I'm not going to scold him for fussing. I want that soft, whimpery, forlorn cry to stop. And I'll bet I find myself a lot more rested and productive, too.

Full disclosure: I was pretty much ready to give in anyway, before I did the research that validated the normality of his behavior. Last night, after a huge blow-out over nursing ("no more till morning. night is for sleeping, not nursing or tantrums."), complete with timeouts and everything, the little one settled down in silence, only demanding that I rub his belly. After a little bit, I thought he was asleep and withdrew my hand. He reached out and pulled my hand back to his little belly. This repeated a time or two, until he lay still and quiet and didn't try to take my hand back again. I lifted myself a little to look at him (I love to watch him sleep), only to discover him lying there with his eyes wide open, a very stoic expression on his little face. Of course, I melted, wrapped my arms around him, nestled him against my body and nursed him. He was fast asleep, for really and truly, a few minutes later. Poor, sweet little guy.

Parenting far and away trumps dissertation-writing in difficulty and high stakes.

Not dead! One conference paper down, two to go. Very busy. Busy-ness compounded by (1) tutoring gig and (2) training for intern job next year. My dissertation is not getting much attention just now. But we are all well and healthy and not dead. Score!

Success! No, not on the computer-battery front, not yet. We couldn't get an appointment during times when we were free. But I have traction on my conference paper--at last!

My work the past few days has mostly consisted of tweaking my outline, jotting (and deleting) a few lines of text, and doing way more research than is called for. This is a normal loss of nerve that I get when the deadline starts to loom, and I plan my schedule accordingly. Yesterday, I took a pad of paper to a cafe--just a pad of paper and a pen, no outline, no computer, and no access to endless research materials. And there, with nothing else to distract me, I blazed through about a third of the paper. Huzzah!

Today there are plans afoot to go shopping, as my wardrobe is woefully lacking in clothes that are both conference-worthy and which fit me. I continue to lose pregnancy weight at a, well, snail's pace, requiring me to buy all new clothes every few months. It is annoying. I even tried to eat lots of really rich things this month, in the hopes of bumping my weight back up into my previous set of dressy clothes, but no luck. Fats signal the body to feel full, and I would uit eating after smaller portions, so it didn't help raise my total calorie intake enough (the only thing that really matters in weight loss or gain, contrary to all the crap dieting products on the market--seriously, want to lose weight? don't eat any pasta, white rice, potatoes, white bread, or other things made with white flour; these are the most common calorie-dense foods--not to mention, they have very little nutritional value, unlike their unrefined counterparts.) (Fun at parties? Oh, ho, this Snail is just a blast!) I think all I did was slow my weight loss enough to stick me between sizes, which isn't the most convenient outcome.

However, none of that might matter anyway, since the weather is today of the Wrath of the Gods variety. Maybe I can quickly craft something fashion-forward out of, let's see, some sheets, towels, and my son's outgrown baby clothes? Yeah, I'll let you know how that turns out.

Dear Universe,

Thank you for the ____FOOD_PICKINESS_&_TANTRUMS______ you have recently chosen to send to ___OUR_TODDLER____. However, at this time we find we have no need for your kind offering(s), due to ____WANTING_TO_STAY_SANE____. Therefore, we respectfully request that you stop by on ____TODAY!_____ at ____NOW!___ o'clock to pick up the unwanted item(s). Please don't hesitate to think of us again in the future, especially should you have any ____SLEEP____ available.

Yours truly,
SNAIL FAMILY

Gosh, that was angry.

But then, I am pretty darned angry at myself. That bears repeating: at myself. It isn't the responsibility of my friends or family to keep me on the straight and narrow regarding my dissertation. It's mine. And I've been shirking, and I'm angry.

Tomorrow I stay home (husband works; babysitter's out of town). Thursday I get back on track: out the door by 9:30 or 10am, my ass in a chair at the library, the work flowing.

It's that time again. The time when, once again, my academic work has been equated to playtime in everyone's mind. The time when, however many times I state the minute I need to walk out the door, no one pays the slightest attention. The time when my leaving for the library may be freely and endlessly delayed because my husband wants to sleep in or read the paper, or my son wants to explore the pantry or read The Snowy Day for the fifth time in a row. Yes, it's once more the time when I have to assert the value and importance of my work.

There's only so much blame I can lay on other people. Really, I'm quite complicit. I want my husband to get plenty of rest and relaxation. I want to spend time with my son, watch him discover, help him learn. Asserting that my work really is work and that my working hours really must be honored by everyone is my job, and no one else's. Sure, it's tedious that every few months, I have to put my foot down, firm and loud, and announce that This Is It, We May No Longer Disrespect Snail's Worktime, but that is simply how it is.

I need about 4 hours per day, six days a week, at the library. Lately that time has shrunk to 1, maybe 2 hours per day, maybe four days a week. But I had to stay home and let my husband rest, right? Sure, except...well, the only way I can justify not going to work is if I stop considering it really work. If I had a job at a corporation, would it be OK for me to flitter off for a day here and there, because my husband sprained his ankle or my kid is teething? I mean, maybe, just a little, right when things are most acute, but not habitually.

It is one of the things the best books on dissertation-writing tell you: treat your academic work like a job. It isn't something to put off because you don't feel like it, or your family wishes you wouldn't go, or your friends want to chat. To finish graduate school, one simply has to give up a lot of socializing time. That's how it is.

Yesterday I accidentally left the ringer off on the phone. I turned it off while I was putting my son down for a nap, and forgot to turn it back on. My best friend, I learned this morning, was exceedingly worried when she couldn't reach me. She phoned over and over all evening, at home and on our cell phones (dunno why we didn't hear those, but we didn't), and sent me emails. Her concern was very kind, even admirable. But it is exactly the kind of pressure that I have to steel myself against once more. Not being able to contact me or play with me or rely on me for some extra sleeping or relaxing time is NOT an emergency. It is a simple, normal part of a reality in which Snail is a grownup with her own grownup concerns that do not always include the gratification of other people's needs and desires before her own.

And now I need to take my 80 remaining minutes and try to get something done. (Herein lies the other problem: I am so disheartened, when I arrive at the library with less than two hours to work, I often can't get anything done anyway.) (And sometimes, rather than being too disheartened, I am too pissed off. Like today.)

Snail Out.