It’s way hard – but I’m happy about it, because it brings the right sort of balance for a person such as myself. I get to work on the newspaper during the day, and come home to Lyovka at night, and I’m not overwhelmed by the minutae of home life – though neither do I have the chance to get overwhelmed by what we do at work. My brain just goes into “home mode” once I have Lyovka in my arms – and home mode is something I have struggled with before we had our son.
None of this stops random people from passing judgement – where would I be if it wasn’t for their sage opinions on everything from whether or not using an electrical breast pump is “wrong” to whether or not I’m a “real mother” at all now? Please, don’t hesitate to keep your superior wisdom to yourself, o Weird Dude In the Elevator Who Glimpsed My Breast Pump In a Paper Bag! I genuinely want to discuss the fact how I am a total freaking idiot – because the only thing that worked for your wife is a manual breast pump, and it’s “more natural that way.”
Lyovka, meanwhile, is amazing. He has my hair colour and forehead so far – but looks like his dad otherwise. When he gets upset and cries, he looks like a pumpkin. Or a tomato. We call him tykvochka and pomidorchik, then. “Uh oh, the pomidorchik is starting to grow.”
Our nanny is Ukrainian and knows all about borscht.
I’ve been busy working on a film treatment based on my new play at night – which works out great if Lyovka sleeps between night-time feeding sessions, and not so great if Lyovka doesn’t sleep between night-time feeding sessions.
The deadline is approaching, but there are always more deadlines in sight.