half baked in the desert

I looked at jobs this morning. I haven't worked much in the last four months. Layoff, bedrest, disaster... Brian is working a lot. Still we, like the planet, are worried about money. But that's not the main reason I'm job hunting. When I probably shouldn't be. When I should be taking care of myself, resting, going swimming, cooking good food, knitting, and not worrying. At least for a few more weeks. But I fell asleep last night and woke this morning feeling lost in the desert.

About a year ago I was a single (well, divorced) gal living in the city. I had a real job that I didn't love, but it paid the bills and kept me mostly independent. Single women friends were my main source of advice and socializing. I had a stockpile of ridiculous single-gal-dating stories. When it came to kids, I was all about auntiehood, not sure if motherhood was in the cards. I had a plan to hit the road as a housesitter and freelance writer, start my novel, save money for a little condo.

And then Brian entered the picture, with his little Lilly, and in the last 9 months everything changed. I mean everything. I got engaged. I moved to the suburbs. I became one of Lilly's parents, full-time. I got married. I got pregnant. I got laid off from my job.

It was scary, unexpected, but I embraced it. It was a new life I was growing. I would plant my feet in the soil of family life with a man and a girl I loved. I would practice being still, staying present, building a home. I would freelance and raise the kids. He would run his business from home and spend lots of time with us. I would learn about babies and school age girls, make mommy friends, and wear Angel Mae in a sling to Lilly's soccer matches. I would run into the city for drinks with my girlfriends. Someday soon we would move to the mountains.

How much of this is still true, still possible, still happening? Some of it. And what's left sometimes feels like desert not a garden. Not that I don't adore my husband and Lil. They are precious gifts. How awful to say that these two sweet people, my unexpected blessings, are not enough! They once were, they will be again.

Yet I am neither here nor there. Not a single working girl. Not a stay at home mom. Not a work from home mom. Not married working woman. Not any label we slap on women's experiences these days. I am not making a life in this new town. It is not a time for new friends or other mommies (except for the babylost). My girlfriends have been great. But they work. And I don't live close. In the evenings I cook and take care of Lilly. I am home alone most of the day doing... I don't know what. It's tax season, and we don't see Brian much. Sometimes I feel like a stay at home wife/nanny. In exchange for room and board. And love. There is definitely love. But what am I doing? Where am I going? No paths in the desert.

So I'm looking at jobs. If I'm not pregnant now, not going to be pregnant soon, I could work some. I could find something close to the city. I could see my girlfriends more. I could uproot just a little -- more money, more movement, more flexibility. And still be home with Lilly after school to love her, to practice parenting her.

Isn't that what most people do when their babymaking years are over, their kids older? I could find a job with "mother's hours" - the kind we go to after birthgiving and nursing and the terrible twos and preschool. I could pretend I'm a real mommy, who's been through all that and is going back to paid work. Even though I'm not her.

Even though I am. I was pregnant and had a baby. And had 9 months of my own gestation to transform me into whatever kind of mommy I've become. Almost mommy. Hybrid mommy. Half gestated, like my baby. Half born into my new life. Half baked in the desert.

You don't stop walking in the desert though. That's certain doom. I do have plenty of water with me, and friends and family on speed dial. So I'll keep going. Job or no job, there must be a path around here somewhere...