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I Am 1/4 Danish: I Am Jealous Of Denmark's Parental Leave Policy.

Today, I wore a suit, which means little more than that I finished getting dressed by having thrown on the jacket that actually matched my pants.  I wore the suit because I had a meeting in a federal judge's chambers at noon to discuss a new pro bono program in which I had the opportunity to participate.

This morning, Baby cried the entire time I changed him into his "daytime clothes."  His eyes were puffy, his nose was stuffy, his cough that will not go away was still not going away, and to top it all off, two of his teeth have been "erupting."  Yes, erupting.  Babies are born with all of their baby teeth - albeit inside their gums - so we cannot call this process an arrival.  Instead, it is an eruption, a term that sounds almost violent, but trust me, the description is apt.

Despite Baby's discomfort, the two of us proceeded on course to Day Care.  However, when we got off the bus, I realized that I could not see all of Baby at once.  Somewhere in the lower right regions of my scope of vision, there was a void.  So here it was.  After three and a half months of a migraine-free life, here was my migraine.  I decided to walk Baby to Day Care because he would be in better hands with people who could see.  My vision deteriorated, a terrible zig zag line was flashing just right of center of my field of vision.  I waited for the light to change so that I could cross Flatbush and was secretly worried about crossing a major avenue while the aura were in full effect, but I was so close to Day Care, I just wanted to hand Baby to someone who was capable.

By the time I got to Day Care and passed Baby to one of the young women who works there, I could barely see anything right of center.  This kind of vision impairment is normally upsetting, but it felt about three thousand times worse when I tried to say goodbye to Baby without really being able to see his little face.  

The aura seemed to have subsided by the time I got to the subway.  I thought I could go to work, pump, maybe have a bagel, go to the meeting with the judge, and then head home to recover from the migraine.    This thought was a foolish one.  

On the subway, I closed my eyes until I got to the Wall Street stop.  When I opened my eyes and stepped off of the train, the aura had returned.  By the time I got to my office, the nausea was hitting me in full force.  I must have looked like a nauseous little mole when I asked my secretary if I could talk to her in my office where I turned off the lights.  Even though I really wanted to go to the meeting with the judge, I asked her to email the judge for me.  I told her some phrases that could go in the email about vision impairment and sincere apologies.  I cannot really remember because the nausea had enveloped me.  Say a little prayer that my last minute cancellation was somehow professional and dignified (the chances of that are slim).  I got in a cab and headed back to Brooklyn.  The last five minutes of the ride were the worst, but I did manage to make it into my apartment before I vomited  (no small feat).  

I woke up this afternoon and saw the remnants of my crazy morning.  The purse and keys that were left just inside the door because I had to run to the bathroom to be sick.  The shoes just outside the bathroom door because apparently even when I am sick I hate to bring outside shoes all over the apartment.  The suit crumpled on the bedroom floor because it was so obviously unnecessary anymore. 

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