Balancing Act

Perfect Family Planning

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By Julia Goode

I'm a planner. I was in the eighth grade when I stared writing a thesis due in my junior year of high school. My sister was writing hers at the time, and it looked daunting. I figured I had better get started.

In keeping with my formidable organizational skills, my first two children were planned in accordance with the academic calendar. My baby girl arrived on June 24, the last day of the summer session course I was teaching; I arranged a guest speaker, and everyone was satisfied. I went back to work in the fall, without having to take a leave.

Although my second child was born four weeks before his December due date, his planning was even better than mine. He miraculously appeared the Sunday before Thanksgiving, causing me to cancel only one class, on the following Tuesday. My students in my other course had turned in their final projects the previous Friday, leaving me with no obligations other than (sigh) grading.

On the Tuesday after Thanksgiving, I returned to teach the final class of the term, while my mom watched my son in my office. Then I went home to enjoy my seven-week "nonleave leave."

I am an academic dean's dream professor. After two pregnancies, I had canceled only one class and asked for no maternity leaves and no reduced teaching load.

I hasten to add here that I am not against maternity leave or any other types of leave. Perhaps my compulsion to schedule my personal life around the academic calendar stemmed from my position back then as a nontenure-track lecturer. I was always trying to prove to the other faculty members and administration that I was a team player in the hope that I would be placed on the tenure track someday.

Also, it's just in my nature to avoid unnecessarily inconveniencing others. I don't change lanes if it would require causing someone else to slow down or speed up. I just wait until there's a natural opening in the flow of traffic. I suppose I thought that semester breaks were natural openings in the academic flow.

In addition, my new academic life was so much more flexible than my former position at a large law firm that I was constantly amazed at having any home life at all. An any rate, although I never resented anyone else taking a maternity leave, I was quite satisfied with how my first two pregnancies had been planned.

Naturally, I thought my perfect planning would continue when it came time to consider having a third child. I put that potential pregnancy on hold shortly after the birth of my second child, since I had just accepted a tenure-track job at a new university. Having a third child so soon after switching institutions didn't seem like such a good idea, and I needed a break from life changes anyway.

The years ticked by, and our family fell into a comfortable rhythm. We were a family of four fairly independent humans; we could all talk, feed ourselves, dress ourselves, go to the potty, and even read to varying degrees. Then one day a year or so ago, I realized I was not getting any younger. If we were going to have that third child, we needed to start planning.

This time I was going to pull the trifecta of academic maternity planning. I had been granted a research leave for the spring of 2007, in preparation for my going up for tenure the following fall. This was going to be too easy: Now, instead of planning the arrival of my third child during a window of six to 12 weeks, I had an incredible nine-month stretch, including my leave and the summer break. Worst-case scenario, I would be able to eke out at least a three-month "nonleave leave," if not longer.

Sure enough, after a short period of romantic planning in the spring of 2006, I was pregnant with a due date of January 12, 2007, the beginning of my research leave. I was covered whether the baby came early or late and would not have to teach again until August of 2007.

I had hit the maternity lottery jackpot. Not only would my pregnancy not inconvenience anyone, including my academic dean, but I would also have a relaxing and luxurious leave with my third, and possibly last, child.

Furthermore, I was quite confident that my research leave would be sufficiently productive. Being a law professor, my research generally requires only a computer, an Internet connection, and a printer. I run no lab. I supervise no experiments. I can do my research anywhere there is light and broadband.

My only enemy is distraction, and my campus office has many distractions -- students, colleagues, workshops, and meetings. None of those distractions would impose on my cozy home cocoon with my baby and my computer. I would give birth in January, send out a manuscript in March, and then emerge in August with another manuscript and a rolling-over, sitting-up, solids-eating, smiling, laughing 7-month-old with an unbreakable bond with its mother. What could possibly go wrong?

As it turns out, the most important thing went wrong.

A few weeks after receiving the glorious news, we discovered the pregnancy had ended. After a frustrating weekend turn in the emergency room, I sat in the doctor's office on a Monday morning, waiting to see if my blood hormone levels were so decreased from Saturday's levels as to confirm that I had miscarried. I suddenly understood Schrodinger's cat all too well. If the doctor never entered the examination-room door, I could still have a probability of being pregnant; as soon as she walked in, though, I knew it was all over.

I've known many women, well over 20, maybe 30, who have had miscarriages over the years. I was always kind to them but foolishly discounted their losses. I was ignorant of how devastating a miscarriage can be. Now I'm not. At the time of the loss, I had two healthy, beautiful children so I should have counted my blessings, but it was still hard. People told me that early miscarriages are easier on you because "you haven't really started making plans yet." Those people obviously didn't know me well.

After the miscarriage, I made a decision. It was time to throw planning to the wind. Planning is for young people. I was over 35. I couldn't wait for the next semester break, leave, or sabbatical. Whenever Baby No. 3 wanted to come, I would be waiting.

We know now that Baby No. 3 is not a planner. Baby No. 3 scoffs at plans. This baby is due in early October, right after the semester will have gotten off to a good start. That is also the semester in which I am up for tenure. I believe that the faculty votes in October. This should be interesting.

Not wanting to give up my reputation for being the low-maintenance professor mom, I have met with the academic dean to devise a plan for the fall. It is not the plan I had dreamed about, the cozy seven-month cocoon with the rocking-the-baby-and-doing-research rhythm.

But the revamped plan will have to do. I will teach only one course in the fall and then two in the spring. In the early weeks of the fall semester, I will extend class time so I can cancel classes for four weeks after the baby comes. Then I'll come back and teach two days a week for the final four weeks of the semester.

I've taught the class four times so much of my prep work is already done. No problem.

When I describe my strategy to others, they seem skeptical. I'm quite confident that everything will work out -- I've got it all planned.