Surprise, surprise

Despite the fact that its advent couldn't have been less of a surprise -- that's what happens, I suppose, when you're infertile and conceive only on monster doses of recombinant gonadotropins followed by in vitro fertilization, then go on to have what I can only describe as an intensely monitored pregnancy -- motherhood itself has consisted of one revelation after another for me. Ever since Sam was born, I feel continually surprised. Something new and unexpected, just about every day. Almost all of the surprises are wonderful. I never would have guessed how fun it is to take a baby for a walk or to the park. I didn't expect my infant son to be such terrific company. I didn't know how immediately and thoroughly my friends and parish family would embrace my baby, how sincerely they would delight in him. And my husband has bowled me over with his skill, patience, instinct and love -- he is an even more wonderful father than I dreamed he would be.

But the biggest surprise for me has been my own response to motherhood. Specifically, I expected to be torn apart by guilt when I returned to work. I expected to agonize. I anticipated crying jags, threats to quit, despair.

Didn't happen. At all.

Instead -- shockingly -- I don't have any guilt about working whatsoever. It's so clear to me: my working is what's best for my family. And -- more shocking -- my passion for the practice of medicine and my pride and optimism about becoming a doctor has only expanded and deepened. Not a small part of me is actually looking forward to residency. I can't wait to introduce myself to my future patients as a physician rather than as a medical student.

However.

Another thing I didn't fully anticipate: being a working mother ain't easy.

Sam is sick today; I think he probably has an ear infection given his spiking fevers in the absence of an obvious source, although since I cheaped out a couple of years ago and declined to purchase the otoscope my medical school recommended, I can't actually confirm this diagnosis. Both Brian and I had important and full days planned for today, so a sick kid presented a real challenge. There was very, very little sleep in our house last night and today was a logistical maze that resulted in me sprinting through the halls of our university hospital twice, once with a sick baby strapped to my person. I'm sure I looked like a lunatic, shuffling frantically along, carrying two large bags (diapers, a half curdled bottle of breastmilk, the results of my logistic regression all stirred together) and singing to my son to keep him (and me) from crying. No doubt: working motherhood at its worst.

On the other hand, somewhere between the two sprints, I sat between two senior and accomplised researchers, calmly and competently leading them through my recent analyses. Quiet murmurs of agreement, surprise, interest. Smart questions. Plenty to think about as I begin to draft our manuscript this week. More important, these men support me as a colleague. We plan to undertake a small interventional study on the basis of my new results, the kind of study that might provide pilot data for a larger grant. Needless to say, I am ridiculously excited about this possibility. Walking out of our meeting, my boss grinned at me. "You won!" he said. "Now go home and take care of that sick baby."

Working motherhood at its best.