Mama Goes to Work

Before I segue into what it was like to be back at work for a day I have to say, last night, as I peered at my sleeping daughter before I myself turned in, I was surprised to find her asleep in her Superman pose. I've referred to that Superman pose so many times on this blog, I can't believe I didn't notice its disappearance. So last night I saw her asleep on her back with her little arms straight out to the sides and I was happy to see the recurrence of something I didn't even realize I missed. Or would have missed if I'd bothered to notice that as of late, this little T-pose has largely become a thing of the past.

But anyway, let me get on with my first day back at work since Eliza's birth. That makes for six months of work free life. As many of you know, I'm a freelancer, hired on an as needed basis. Producers call me if they need me and if I'm available and want to take the job, I say "yes." I never know where I'll be working or what time until the day before. I also frequently don't know what time I'll be home.

I've been getting calls for work pretty regularly since February but haven't had the time or the inclination to say yes. Some jobs required a three week commitment, something I'm still not ready for, and the one to two day jobs fell on days when C was out of town. It's pretty hard to say to a sitter, "Hey, I need you Thursday but I have no idea when you should show up and how long you're gonna need to stay" so in order to accept work, I need C around to back me up if the job goes into the wee hours of the night.

The call for this job came from a producer I'll call May. I like May, she's considerate, professional, low-maintenance and smart. But mostly what I like about May are the jobs she produces. I can count on one hand the jobs I've done for May that have gone into overtime. I often refer to her jobs as "paid days off." May's also pretty forthcoming with information before the job. For instance, when she called me a month ago to offer a different job, she made it clear the job would shoot overnight. As a new Mama, the idea of staying up all night on a shoot then coming home in time to nurse and start my day with Eliza sounded terribly like bootcamp in Cambodia. So I was thrilled when May called again to offer me another job that would shoot in a Manhattan loft that "wouldn't be a long day." As providence had decided I would take this job, it also shot on the day my part-time babysitter comes. So C could cover me in the morning and then relinquish the responsibility to my very capable babysitter, Kim.

All the stars seemed to be aligned on this one so I said "yes." For my first day back I work, I couldn't ask for a better scenario then a ten hour day in a Manhattan location. C or Kim might even be able to bring the baby by for my coworkers' subsequent oohs and ahs.

I packed up my work kit of forms, pens and stopwatches and took the bus across town to the loft. I had no idea what we were advertising, which is usually the case. Most people don't understand how I can go to work without knowing the product but my answer in this case is, "as long as they pay me, I don't care." I've worked on national commercials, local spots, in-house industrials, public service announcements and various spec spots. When I do TV or movie jobs, I tend to know more info as those jobs require more from me and have a cooler party banter cache than "I worked on that EPT test commercial with that girl on an escalator." This commercial starred a fashion designer so famous even the guy from Iowa who does all his clothes shopping at Wal-Mart is likely to be familiar with her. Her dresses and gowns are seen on celebrities and supremely wealthy people world-wide. She doesn't advertise so I expected this job to be an in-house kind of instructional video about her company.

Wrong, it turns out this designer isn't so famous she won't lend her name to a line of fancy mattresses. In a few months, if the ad airs, I may have just given her away. But for now, let me protect her privacy by referring to her as "Gus." Having spent a day with her, the nickname fits, trust me.

My job started as I walked into this very cramped "loft" to find Gus standing amongst seven mannequins. She shouted loudly to a trio of Goth-looking art assistants "This one shouldn't be in front." "This isn't the jewelry I ordered!" The steamy loft air indicated a disabled air conditioner. The director, a buff Austian man who appeared pumped to pump us up, bellowed in Ahnauld like tones to his lighting director. In the sea of this hot and huffy chaos stood May, whose usual calm, collected air of competence seemed to be replaced by a look that suggested Bambi in the headlights.

"I don't know where to tell you to go," she said when she saw me. "You know Pierre, the first AD? He can walk you through the job."

My only goal upon entering had been locating a corner to stash my breast pump. However, it appeared that every inch of this studio apartment, I mean loft, was occupied by agency, art directors, technical crew, camera assistants, personal assistants and the other assorted looky-loos who tend to accompany celebrities of our talent's caliber. I temporarily dumped my pump and work kit onto the video playback guy, a charming fellow called Clem, before embarking up the steep steps to the makeshift production office.

In this area, basically a landing that overlooked the activity of the "loft," I was overjoyed to find the production coordinator quite swollen with an Eliza to be. Surely she would not mind if I set up and pumped a few feet from her. Off of her area was another small room where a production assistant had set up a kiddie table and his laptop. The area was small, but removed from the chaos and the production coordinator, a woman named Jane, said she was happy to house me and my breasts. Breasts taken care of, Jane handed me the storyboards, dialogue and shot list for the day. The schedule has us camera wrapped at 7:30. Though that seemed a bit of a pipe dream with the unfurling disorder downstairs, even if we wrapped at 8:30, I'd still probably see Eliza before she went to bed.

Pierre then went over the day for me, rolled his eyes at Gus and said something like "she's so busy worrying about which dummy wears what get-up she hasn't even hit hair and makeup." I looked at Gus, who athletically waves scissors around a dress bow, then waved off a harrassed looking woman approximately 50 years of age. The harrassee nodded and heartily hammered the keys of her blackberry. Beside Gus stood a tall, well dressed woman who screamed into a cell phone "where is the jewelry? We asked for this hours ago! You need to get in the car and get over here. Forget about the messenger."

I scrolled down the call sheet to see that although we only had one on-camera talent, we had two make-up artists, one hair stylist, one manicurist, two clothing stylists, and three assistants. The mayham that surrounds famous people always amazes me. I was happy to have a little baby at home to remind me of what was really important and it wasn't lost jewelry and blackberries. I passed around photos Eliza and enjoyed the role of proud, proud Mama. I reconnected with co-workers who seemed to find my giddiness contagious. Truthfully, it felt good to be out of the house Eliza instead of stuck in the apartment in my bathrobe as I carried her to the mirror for the 15th time for her amusement.

"Okay, I think the dresses look good," Gus said. It was 11:45, the time we were scheduled to start shooting. "I haven't even figured out what I'm wearing," she said, then vanished into the makeup room.

"Why do I get the feeling this is going to go late into the night?" Clem said.

"I hope not," I said, suddenly panicked. I wanted to see my little one before she went to bed.

Gus took a lot less time in hair and makeup than I had expected. She came out, stood in the middle of the set and had Clem tape her amongst her creations. He played the video image back for her on the monitor and Ahnauld told her, "You look great, yah."

"This dress looks like a sack," Gus said. "Let's try it without the shirt."

She yanked a large black shirt over her head revealing a lovely, sleevleless black dress. She wore knee high black leggings and high heels. She marched back onto the set for another video image.

"What do you think of the leggings?" She asked her posse of looky-loos.

The well dressed one answered. "They should stay on, otherwise it's too much skin."

Gus stroked her arm. "We'll need to do my skin. The hair and makeup look good otherwise."

I was surprised. Usually people of this caliber are never satisfied with the hair and makeup, no matter how liberally applied.

"What do you think?" Gus asked her harassed assistant.

The woman looked up from her blackberry. "You need to keep the leggings on."

Gus stared at the monitor. "I don't know, maybe we'll shoot with them on and then off. We have all day, right? Let me try something else."

Gus went back into the dressing room and well-dressed and harrassed turned to each other.

"That dress looks like a shapeless sack," Harrassed said.

"I think it looks okay with the leggings but without, just too much skin. And where the hell is that jewelry? This is ridiculous!"

She then pulled out a cell phone and held it up like a Samarai swordsman. I stepped away, seeing this as a good opportunity to pump. I climbed the stairs, donned my modest poncho and put together the pump. When all the pieces were in place, I sat down to free my breasts from my nursing top when a videographer came upstairs to watch a promotional video on May's computer. He was soon followed by an agency type who went over the fine points of the video. After about ten excruciating minutes of this, they went back downstairs and I started to pump.

About two minutes into my ceremonial milking, the camera assistants came up to look at the space.

"We need to move our stuff up here," they said, matter of factly, as they most likely wondered about the strange noise from beneath my chair and the stiffness of my pose. Still needing to "drain the main vein" as they say, usually referring to another expelling activity, I sat still in my chair. They moved up camera cases, a table, a changing tent all while I sat on my perch, my hands hidden behind the poncho.

You may wonder why I didn't pick the bathroom. Basically that's why, there was a "bathroom." Not a ladies room, not a men's room but one room with a toilet and sink that not only served as the facility for a 50 person shoot but for the other attendees of all the lofts on our floor.

Sufficiently pumped, I came downsairs to find Gus in a black sweatshirt and black leggings.

"This is me," she said matter-of-factly to the director before stepping onto set, now ready to start our shooting day.

I was surprised the outfit was chosen with that little fanfare. I was even more surprised when the shoot went rather smoothly. Gus complained and said the dialouge livelier than the director liked, but for the most part she was very healthily low maintenance. She even thanked me sincerely when I corrected her on the lines. Now I've had to tell actors large and small their correct lines and some of them thank me and some of them roll their eyes and some of them scream. Though there are exceptions to every rule, for the most part, the ones who thank me are the better actors. I can't say Gus was the greatest spokesperson I've worked with but she was refreshingly direct and very, very smart.

"Just as long as I don't come off like Martha," she said several times while she watched the playback.

I arranged for Kim to bring the baby during lunch after double checking with Pierre than no matter how far behind we were, lunch would happen at 3pm. So imagine my surprise when Pierre shouted out "Lunch" at 2:15. Quickly I called Kim and told her to come now. I stood outside the building and waited about 45 minutes for them to arrive. As the clock ticked away my lunch hour I grew more and more excited to see my baby. I kept looking up Broadway, my heart flapping like a teenager on prom night.

And then through the sea of hot, sweaty New Yorkers, there was my darling daughter facing out in the Bjorn as Kim clutched a white paper and looked up at building numbers. I ran over to them, the excitement I felt would surely be contagious.

"Hi," I yelled, expecting a huge smile from my daughter.

Instead, I got the mouth open, quizzical "who are you?" look from both Kim and Eliza.

"I thought you were another crazy person, coming to gawk at the baby," Kim said. Eliza regarded me curiously, as though I were some crazy old lady on a bus.

On the elevator, Eliza realized who I was and then yelled when I stepped away to get my poncho. Thrilled my duaghter now wanted to spend time with me, I donned my poncho and found a quiet area in the hallway. Eliza curled up under my poncho and started to feed.

"Hot in there," Kim said. "Why don't they have any air conditioning?"

At the sound of Kim's voice, Eliza popped out from under the poncho and flashed Kim a huge smile. Kim grinned back.

"Hi baby," I said, but Eliza stared and giggled at Kim.

"Your mama's talking to you," Kim said but Eliza kept her eyes and her smile on Kim. Finally, she crawled under the poncho for some more boob without ever turning her eyes towards me.

"I feel used," I said, not exactly joking.

"She's not used to seeing you outside the home."

When Eliza was done feeding and I'd paraded her around the set, Kim put her back in the bjorn and the two of them waited for the elevator. I was smiling and waving to Eliza who looked at me with a bored look on her face. Yes, my going to work to "get a life" outside my daughter now seemed mandatory as my daughter had already gotten a life that didn't involve me. A production assistant sat on a chair beside me as I waved and waved to Eliza. Finally, Eliza lifted up her arm and drew it across her body in a half wave. The Assistant and I both squealed with delight.

"That just made my day," the assistant said.

"I didn't see it," Kim said, disappointed.

I ran over to Eliza and gave her one last kiss before they disappeared onto the elevator.

The day passed as days will. It got later and I got more worried I wouldn't see my daughter before she went to bed. But the client and Gus seemed to like me and this made me feel useful and intelligent. Gus went through the motions, struck several poses on several mattresses while her entourage fanned and fussed.

"Does she have to lie on her stomach?" Harrassed finally screamed during the last shot. Harrassed now appeared ready to descend into a nervous breakdown. "She's very uncomfortable! Between the hair spray and the heat, she's about to pass out!"

But then the shot was over and with it, our day with Gus. She left quicky, thanked us all whole-heartedly, and then we started to light for the final shot, a glowing shot of a mattress with Gus' name on the wall behind it. It was close to 7:30, our proposed wrap time.

We didn't make 7:30 but by 8:30 I was standing outside, my arm raised for a cab. C would hate my taking a cab home when we live so close to the loft but I had to get home, just had to, before little Eliza went to sleep. The doorman chatted as he handed me a package and I had to tell him, "I went back to work today and I'm dying to see the baby before she goes to bed!"

I ran into the apartment to find Eliza in her hooded towel, fresh from her bath. And then there it was, the big smile and the excited, flapping arms that had alluded me at lunch.

"She wouldn't nap," C said. "I gave her cereal, I took her for a walk, tried everything. I think she was waiting for you."

"I'm here," I said. "I'm here."

I dressed her in her pajamas and carried her into the living room where she nursed until she fell asleep. C offered several times to take her to the crib but I wouldn't let him. I held her against my chest throughout "My Name is Earl" and "The Office." My little baby, asleep on Mama, just like the old days.

Finally, having relished that hour, I put her in her crib. So maybe she was still my little baby after all.

That night, Eliza woke up vomiting. She vomited most of the night. I blamed myself, I should have pumped before I nursed her, I was too full, blah blah. Eliza seemed largely unphased by the events. She'd cough, I'd run to the crib, sit her up, she'd puke and then go right back to sleep. C changed her sheet twice before finally coming up with the genius idea of lying a towel on top of the sheets. The next day, Eliza continued to puke though she was her typical, peppy self. My little baby, smiling, quite happy, with vomit. Finally, I called the pediatrician who said it sounded like a stomach flu that would pass and it did. By Saturday she was my baby again, happy, without vomit.

So there it is, my first day back at work. It was a nice change but I'm very glad it was only a one day job. In time, I suppose I'll be able to do two days, then three, maybe even four. But for now, one day was enough, especially considering the events of the night after. This morning was a rough one but here I am, typing away, still happy to be a new mama, year one.