Let’s NOT Get Physical!

Posted: December 22, 2014 in Uncategorized
Tags: , , ,

So this evening- probably yesterday evening by the time I finish this post- was my first night back to Giovanni’s since Piper was born.  I didn’t necessarily want it to be my first night back.  I, my doctors, Jonas- who is not only my penultimate boss but Piper’s unofficial godfather-, and Federal statutes are all on board for me having a longer maternity leave.  I want to spend time getting to know this tiny person depending on me.  The doctors want me to take the time to recover to 100% capacity.  Jonas, given that he played a greater role in Piper’s birth than Piper’s father and that I picked her middle name in his honor, sees P.J. as family and thus all of his aggressive territoriality is lined up on her side.  The law guarantees my job has to be there for up to twelve weeks maternity leave, and since I went into labor at work, I didn’t use up any of the twelve weeks before giving birth.

Should I be naughty or nice?  I can't decide...

Should I be naughty or nice? I can’t decide…

On the other hand, there is a vast difference between having maternity leave and having paid maternity leave.  My landlord, my bank, the hospital billing department, etc. are all very eager for me to return to work.  Then there’s the Stefano factor.  Jonas Giovanni may own the restaurant, but his son actually manages it.  I wouldn’t say Stefano is eager for me to return to work.  Honestly, I don’t think he cares one way or the other whether I work for Giovanni’s or don’t work for Giovanni’s.  However, he seems offended by the murky middle ground of a medical leave, where legally I am employed, but I don’t actually work any shifts.  If I’m employed he wants me to be available when it works for him, able to pick up stuff on short notice, able to help him arrange the pieces.  He’s all about making the restaurant work, and I’m one of the pieces he uses to put a schedule and a floor plan together.  If I, as a piece of the staffing puzzle, come with all sorts of extra limitations and special rules about how and when I can be used, he would rather discard me and get a simpler piece.  It’s not personal to him- although I take it that way, one of the reasons we sometimes clash- he just doesn’t want the bother.  So Saturday night, I reluctantly returned to the salt mines.

May I say, “ouch”?  Remember, it was about a month ago that I was rushed to the hospital so that a team of doctors could cut a nine-inch incision in my belly and rip a tiny person out of my stomach.  I don’t really think of serving as a terribly physical job.  You don’t have to be buff to do it; serving will not magically burn your calories away or build your muscles up.  You are on your feet all day and need to keep moving, but it is simply a constant stream of light, minor activity.  The problem is, while you recover from a C-section, what constitutes ‘minor’ activity is a whole lot less than usual.  And that constant stream means it never stops.  When the incision scar throbs, and your muscles ache from trying to hold stress away from the torso and keep it on the arms and legs, and you just need a minute or two to rest- too bad, you ain’t getting that minute.  Table 203 wants refills right away, there’s no ice at the server drink station, table 214 needs their check, and while many tables may sympathize with my pain, that doesn’t somehow make their needs magically go away so I can rest.  It’s a miracle I was still standing upright at the end of the evening.

I like to tell people I have elegant and classy Christmas parties to attend...

I like to tell people I have elegant and classy Christmas parties to attend…

You know the proverb, “All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy.”  I unfortunately have to live by the proverb, “If Emily doesn’t have a good income, she will have a bad outcome.”  I needed to get back on my feet, but physically and emotionally, I’m not quite ready yet.  I’m stressing a little bit tonight because while I’m sure things will work out somehow, I always live my life kind of white-knuckle when I don’t have any idea what ‘somehow’ actually entitles…

Sore and sleep-deprived as I’m feeling, I’m not sure if I’ll get another post up before Christmas.  So before my dad brought Piper back (he loves being Grampa; it makes me feel warm to know I was once just as small in those arms and looked at with just as much unconditional adoration) from watching her while I worked, I made sure I took some pics in my apartment with some cute Christmas dresses.  Dress #1 is ‘Christmas Baby’ from SHEY.  Plusses: It’s adorable, and the shoes, dress, cape, and hat are all color change with a single HUD to control color and resizing.  Minus: The shoes, little ankle boots, just don’t fit well, so I ended up using a different pair of boots, the Colorado boots from Grumble I wear so frequently.  Dress #2, more elegant, is the Holiday Gown from Leri Miles Designs.  This is the sort of a Christmas dress I would wear to a gallery opening or opera; now I just have to meet the sort of guy who would take me to gallery openings or operas…  Dress #3 is ‘Santa’s Candy’, a naughtily little ensemble from the now-closed Pinkmare’s House.  It’s the sort of outfit that would have Santa begging to be on my naughty list.  It is also the sort of outfit I probably shouldn’t have been wearing when dad came by to return my newborn daughter.  That’s the bittersweet part of seeing my dad gaze upon his granddaughter with unconditional adoration: having to compare it to the look of love tempered by disappointment he generally gives me.  Oh well, c’est la vie…

The mature alternative to milk and cookies?

The mature alternative to milk and cookies?

Since I probably won’t get another post in before Christmas…

Permit me to write before I log off, so to speak:

Merry Christmas to All and to All a Good Week!

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