In my defense, the anti-frizz hair cream bottle looks a lot like my face sunscreen bottle.

I was going to write a whole post on busy labor floors and safety; I wanted to address anonymous's very important comment. The post was going to have a tiny umpire on it and be titled "Yer Safe!", but it's going to have to wait.

Here's the abridged version of the last month or so:

Week 1:
Return from family trip to my parents' house. Wonderful, exhausting seeing family. Traffic means that the last 7 miles of the trip take almost as long as the preceding 150. We unpack after midnight.

This week, Smoosh stops sleeping through the night, then starts again. Work is busy, I'm still adjusting to the new office (the one near Whole Foods!). I cap off the week with a night on call, and it's nonstop, including a postpartum hemorrhage right at 8am when I'm supposed to go home. I get home late, but I find parking right away which is no small blessing.

Week 2:
Uneventful weekend.

On Monday, Rav and Dav move to Smoosh's daycare. We have a smooth transition during the day, but Dav starts screaming for 1-2 hours at bedtime if you leave his room, or really even stop making contact with his hand.

I can't be there to drop the babies off or pick them up because I'm the MFM attending on service, taking care of the antepartum hospitalized patients during the day as well as overseeing our antenatal testing center.* It is...hard.

There are several cardiac patients, one truly terrifying-may-not-survive-this-pregnancy patient. I follow a colleague's plan to deliver a sick pregnancy, baby dies for unpreventable reasons. I make the call to deliver another very unexpectedly sick pregnancy; it's a non-controversial decision, and I didn't have much choice. The baby dies for unpreventable reasons on day-of-life 3. I spend a lot of time with the patient and her husband. I don't cry.

I come home late almost every day. On Friday, I come home at 8, put the kids to bed, and then sign charts until almost 11 pm. When I stop, I'm not on service anymore, and I go to sleep.

Week 3: 
Weekend of school planning. Smoosh needs supplies, because he is going to real school (pre-K).

On Monday, Smoosh starts new school. I completely fall apart at dropoff, and am so surprised that I am still in the room with him when this happens. "But he's been in school since 12 weeks of age," I bawl at the nice administrators who try to pat me on the back.

This week, school has "transitional schedule" (AKA let's fuck with working parents**). Ninety minutes of school the first day, 2 hours the second, no bus until next week. Friends help us out, the Bearded Economist and I both cut corners when we can, and we get through. But what I really want to say to those school administrators who are patting me on the back is this: "If you want me to stop crying, you could help a lot by not making this week's schedule completely impossible for any family not living in the 1950s." I refrain.

Things feel stressful and like we may, at any point, find one of our children wandering the streets. This does not happen.

I spend a lot of time at work seeing patients, but also cleaning up from last week - following up plans I started, billing for visits that I didn't have time to submit, checking labs on people that I sent home.

I go to a yoga class, held on a roof at sunset after kid bedtime. It rains, but we keep on going. It feels just a little bit crazy, and  I can't stop laughing.

Dav stops screaming at bedtime after a lot of bedtime routine adjustments. In exchange, Rav starts waking up, inconsolable, at 2 am. On the weekend, I'm so tired that I put hair cream on my face.

Week 4:
Busy weekend. Everyone has a cough. I'm planning Smoosh's birthday party.

I can't fall asleep because I am worried about Smoosh riding the bus tomorrow, and because I am sure a baby will wake up at any moment. Everyone sleeps until 5:30. Smoosh gets on the bus, and I think he's ok. I only cry after the bus turns the corner.

I have a research day today, but I'm writing this instead of editing my paper.

*This will be mined for many, many future posts. I just need a little distance, is all. 
**Oh, yeah, I'm mad. I'm perceiving this entire school schedule as warfare on working parents. What the hell, schools? I can guarantee you that the "transition" may have been "gradual" at school, but the measures we had to take to make that possible meant that the net gain of trauma-free-adjustment is negative. And yes, I am aware that this is merely the harbinger of years to come.