Moving from a roach infested apartment

It was a crazy summer. It was equal parts wonderful and really, really hard. The hardest part was moving out of our roach infested apartment. With my anxiety levels charged up from the growing infestation, just weeks into my new job and return to full time work, I planned our move. We had a month of overlap at both apartments, which we needed so that we could be careful and intentional all along the way.

We were very scared of bringing the roaches with us, so we painstakingly inspected and cleaned everything before packing it in big blue moving bins. Husband and I agreed that even though we had stretched our budget to its limit (past it really – borrowing from a very wonderful person just to be able to pay the security deposit and first month’s rent), it would be better to leave behind anything that we couldn’t be absolutely sure carried no bugs or their eggs. Our motto was “When in doubt, throw it out.” We really wanted to be sure that we never had to go through this again.


My mom came to help us pack, and I was so thankful for her help, especially with the kitchen, which was the worst part. I think we must have seen hundreds of roaches both dead and alive while packing the kitchen alone. Many would scurry away when we opened a cabinet drawer, or we’d find them crawling around in nesting bowls. It had gotten so bad that we didn’t even have to shed light on a dark area – we’d regularly see them crawling on cabinets, walls, and counters, even in the daytime. So gross. With the distance that comes from being out of that place, I can now clearly see how BAD it was.

The moving process took longer than I’d hoped. We had both the old and new apartments for a whole month – because I was eager to get out of there and because the move was extra intense with the eradication work. As we approached the final weekend of our overlap month, I looked forward to closing the book on the infested apartment for good.

Then the bargain movers I’d originally hired for the last Saturday of our overlap month told us they were delayed for 4 hours before finally telling us they weren’t coming – “you cancel” the foreman texted me. We sure as hell did not! So I spent the next morning calling movers until I found one who could come the next day, for about 3x the price.

My husband and I took the day off from work and went back to the old apartment one last time. We did a final assessment of which furniture was safe to bring. After I sprayed clorox on a joint in a wooden table only to see a handful of baby roaches come crawling out, we decided to cut our plans even further, bringing almost nothing.

The movers were running late and it was near our daughter’s bedtime, so I took her while Husband oversaw the movers. I went back to the building later to bring him something and snapped the below pictures of all of our furniture in the trash.


In the end we brought the bins, the bed and metal frame, my daughter’s bed, the nursing glider, a glass and metal desk, two folding chairs, a desk chair, a metal baker’s rack, and a still boxed shelving unit extension from Ikea. That’s it! No dressers, no tables, no bookshelves. There was almost nowhere to unpack our stuff to, and nowhere comfortable to eat. But it was worth it, to get out of the old place.

Our new apartment is big, sunny, and mostly bug free. A few days after the movers brought our stuff, I saw 3 or 4 cockroaches around the apartment. I was so scared that we had brought them with, but I felt that it would be just more than I could handle, and I just shut down my emotions on it, imagining it was someone else and not me. We put out bait traps and sealed the gaps around the doors and hoped for the best.

I’m happy to say we haven’t seen many in the weeks since. I hadn’t seen any until this morning when I found a dead one in the sink. Husband says he saw one in the kitchen too. But I believe this will be ok. The apartment is caulked and sealed so there is no good place for them to nest, and they will not survive.

We are slowly furnishing the apartment. I’d say we are being responsible by only buying what we can pay cash for, but the truth is we maxed out all of our credit just to make the move happen, so we have no choice. We bought a nice new convert-a-couch and a cheap folding table that we fancy up with a table cloth. I put some basic metal shelving in the closets so that we had a place to unpack our hobby supplies, which take a whole closet. We have less than 10 bins left to unpack out of the original 45. We are looking at dressers and toy storage next. In the meantime, we use the other bins for surfaces and toy and clothes storage.

Despite the incomplete furnishings and decorations, I am so happy about our new home. My anxiety levels dropped within a week or two of closing the chapter on the old place. I am so happy that I can comfortably use our kitchen without fear of what I’ll encounter every time time I move something. It’s changed my habits and routines – I can now relax at home with my family in a way I hadn’t at the old place in months. I feel relieved and comforted to be home and I love spending time there with my husband and daughter. It was all worth it.


Back to full time

It’s the end of the day on Friday, and I’m on my way home following my first week at a new job. It was not just my first week here, but also my first week back at full time work. I feel so many different emotions over this transition.

I am very excited and happy about my new job. I think I made the right choice. There were stresses at my old job that were making me very unhappy, so I decided to see what else was out there for me. And I found that there was quite a bit. I was upfront in my interviews that one of the things I wanted was work/life balance and that a flexible schedule was important to me. I was pleasantly surprised at how many companies were willing to work with me on that.

After much consideration I accepted an offer to work at the one company where my department head would be a woman. She is a C-level executive and we have several things in common. I’m really excited to work with her!

So when I’m at work things are great. When I’m at home and my daughter is up I like to focus on spending time with her, and that’s great too.

When I’m commuting… That is the worst right now. I find myself with time to think about what I missed of my daughter during the day. And I just want to be with her Right This Minute!

She is handling it all pretty well though. And the new income has made it possible for us to rent a new, big, clean apartment – we just got the lease and will get the keys next weekend! The income should alleviate our financial stress, and the home will provide a new comfy refuge that home has not been for me lately (we’ve had a serious cockroach problem). And I’m learning new things and getting new opportunities. Taken together, these things should help a lot with our general happiness and put us in a better position for baby #2 down the road, so that I can hopefully spend more time with our children again when we get to that milestone.

Scenes from a Saturday

It’s Saturday morning, and I am on my work laptop. The last two days I have been at the office, working hard as one of my staff is leaving, and while I am eager to focus on family again, there are a few nagging items I can’t get out of my mind. I send off a few emails, interrupted here and there by my toddler who is hungry for breakfast.

I get my daughter dressed in her bear suit so we can run some errands. We head outside in the late morning, her bundled in her stroller and me wondering how navigating the snowy sidewalks will be today. I am relieved and happy to be done with work and spending time with my daughter, experiencing our weekly reconnection day after my time away. I am getting ready for a party and I need to stop at the grocery store and the bakery.

I have all 4 stove tops going – pancakes for breakfast, bacon, broccoli, and pasta for the mac and cheese I will bring to the party. My daughter is alternately playing on her own and clinging to my leg as I work. My husband is sleeping after a late night out with friends. I peek in on him to tell him breakfast will be ready soon and ask him to help out.

Our daughter is dressed and ready to go and I have packed up the stroller with the cake and mac and cheese. The party has already started and we are not yet out the door. My husband is moving slowly, his body showing how drained he feels.

“Do you have to go?” he asks. We embrace and I feel him curl into me, how genuine his pleading for me to join him in staying in our nest, ignoring the world and its demands together.

I had wanted for him to accompany us to the party, but I decide not to push, instead asking if he still wants to go out after. We had arranged a babysitter and were planning on a date, but I could tell he was in the mood to stay in. “I don’t really want to do anything at all,” he says, confirming my suspicions. I understand all too well how he is feeling – the sense that any effort at all is too much, that nothing could be rewarding enough to make it worth it. It’s not true, of course. But I know how true it can feel, when you’re there, in that place.

I pause. “Let’s at least get dinner, just the two of us,” I say. “We can always come home afterwards.”

He agrees.

As I push the stroller around the building and roll it up the stairs, careful not to wake my sleeping toddler, I hear the buzz of the party inside the building. The voices of adults mingle with the squeals and cries of children. I open the door and enter the space, looking around at the gathered families. Here are my daughter’s best friends, my best mom friends (though the “mom” qualifier is no longer needed), and their spouses, all gathered together to mark the occasion of our children’s first birthdays. It is a room filled with love and support, I know, and yet as I enter with my sleeping child I can’t help but feel a bit alone.

I roll the stroller with my daughter to a spot in the back, where she is somewhat removed from the din but we can see when she wakes. With a sigh, I note that I am 45 minutes late for a 2 hour party. After getting settled, I snap a picture of my sleeping daughter, and send it to my husband.


“So far, she is sleeping through the party. Your daughter, much? ;)”

Once she wakes up, she is a joy. We have some food and talk with our friends. Then we all get together for a group photo of the moms and babies. As we laugh and smile and look at any of the many cameras in the hands of the many dads, I know that this will be a picture I will cherish – we will capture a moment, but it will call to mind so many more, of emails and texts and afternoons together in the park or indoors, of home cooked scones and pot luck dinners, of watching our children make their first friends, with each other.

During the group shot with the fathers, a few of us step out of the frame. My daughter and I run back and forth in the large space, enjoying the music.


Someone who generously watched my daughter in addition to their own just the day before returns a sippy cup that I had left behind at their house. My daughter wants to drink from it, and I let her carry it, then lose track of it again in the sea of children’s things that is our celebration of ten 1 year olds and their moms and dads.

We are cleaning up, putting away furniture and sweeping the floor. The babysitter has picked up my daughter and is on her way to our apartment. I have messaged my husband, but heard nothing. I guess that he has fallen asleep and will wake when the babysitter arrives. I make the most of the time, chatting with the friends who remain and helping out. A boy, the older sibling of one of my daughter’s friends, brings the sippy cup to the mom I am standing next to. She tells me he thought it was hers because her daughter was drinking from it too.

“No worries,” I say as I put the bright pink and yellow cup in the pocket of my oversized coat, thankful at this moment for the coat and its large pockets. The coat is too big and not very flattering. I wore it last winter when I was in my third trimester, and I continue to wear it now so that I can close it around my daughter and I when she is in the wrap. It has dried finger paint on the hem from my encounters with not-quite-dry toddler art, and crumbs and specks of food from her snacks in the wrap. It is, as my boss put it, a “mom coat.” I probably should get a nice fitted coat for myself, but I just couldn’t bring myself to invest the money and time in the hunt for the right winter coat this year. I am not focused on that part of me. I am a mom first, and everything else after. It’s how I want it to be.

My pace quickens as I see my husband walking towards me on the street. I feel weird, like a train off the tracks, as I walk towards him without our daughter in sight. I can count on one hand the number of times we’ve gone out without our daughter in the 14 months since she was born. As the two of us draw closer, I am giddy with happy memories – a decade of dinners for two, conversations both deep and light, games and trips and weekends in.

We embrace excitedly, sharing a big hug and a kiss, even though we’d just seen each other a few hours earlier. I lean into him as we walk, an extra skip in my step. As we hold hands and chat about where to go for dinner, I am relieved to hear more energy in his voice and feel more strength in his walk.

We choose to eat at Le Cheile, where we had our first dinner out as a new family of 3 a little over a year earlier and where we have been since many times, instead of Saggio, the fancy but cramped Italian restaurant where we ate our last dinner out as a childless couple. We are creatures of habit and comfort, and they have delicious mozzarella sticks.

I sit on a bench in the park, my legs awkwardly stretched in front of me on the deep blanket of snow. My husband sits across from me, helping me light the joint I just rolled as we talk about family size and when to have another child. I am enjoying myself, and I tell him so. It feels nice to be able to focus on each other and not worry about what our daughter is up to.

My throat feels dry, and I think a drink would be great. Then I interrupt our conversation – “I’m about to have a very mom moment. Are you ready for this?” I ask as I reach into my pocket and pull out the sippy cup. “Want some water?” I ask, thinking of all the people involved in making this drink turn up in my pocket on this particular day.

I smile, feeling immense love as I talk with my husband.

What a great day.

Happy 13 Months

I can’t believe how long it’s been since I took the time to write. So many things have been going on – a reorganization at work, Husband started a new job, the holidays and family visits, and my daughter’s first birthday!

She seems more and more like a toddler these days. She walks well, even being able to catch her balance after wobbling on one leg, standing from sitting, and balancing in a squat while she plays on the floor.


Lately she is all about the couch, and she can now get up and down safely in her own. She likes to crawl around on it or to grab the Wii U remote and play with the touchscreen. She’s taken a liking to her Elmo doll. We do watch a little bit of TV, and when I turned on sesame street she was blown away to see Elmo on the TV. She turned to me, back to the TV, back to me, as if to say “Did you know about this?”


She has a handful of words, and babbles all the time. She regularly says Dada, Mama, cat (“atttt” or “tttttt”), up, all done (“aaaaahl duh”), that, this, and yes (“ess”). She has also said book, bye bye,¬†towel, and bed. The other day or cat had climbed up to a shelf in the closet, and her Dada was holding hey up so that she could see. She was amazed to see the cat there, and said “(c)at up”.


She is so much fun. She loves music and physical play and investigating objects. She puts rings on pegs and is working on the shape sorter, sometimes getting the shapes through and other times getting frustrated when she is trying to put a circle through a square hole.

We love her so much. It’s been such an amazing 13 months with her.

Learning to walk

My daughter turned 11 months old this week. On her 11 month birthday, she took her first tentative steps, and then yesterday she walked all the way across the room. It was so exciting to watch!


She had been very stable at standing for several weeks, and had even started rising and sitting without holding onto anything. She loved to walk holding our hands, but if she wanted to get across the room she would sit and crawl.

I felt that she had the strength and balance needed to walk, and all she was missing was the confidence. Her Dad agreed that she was scared to try. So we decided to encourage her to walk with just one of our hands. Whenever we did this, she would be upset at first, reaching for the other hand so she could speed up, but we encouraged her to try it. For a day or two, she did most of her walking this way, more slowly and tentatively than when she had two helping hands.

Then, on her 11 month birthday, while
I was sitting on the floor behind her, her standing with my arms nearby, her Daddy walked into the room and she took a couple of steps towards him! Then she grabbed my hands and we all cheered and encouraged her. She did the same thing again a few times that evening.

The next day, with encouragement she took a few more steps throughout the day. By the evening she was able to take about 10 steps, toddling across the room! She seems less scared to try now, though crawling is still her preferred method. This morning when I was getting ready for work I asked her to take a few steps to show her new skill to the nanny, and she walked towards me with a little more confidence.

I’m so proud of her for giving walking on her own a try even though she was hesitant. I can’t wait for the next chance to encourage her to persevere, despite her fears!

On working part time

Last night was my company Holiday party. At the end of the workday, my coworkers and I bundled into our winter coats and set off to walk together towards the Hudson River, our destination an event space called Studio 450, on the 12th floor of a building in the west 30s. After waiting for a ride up in the elevator, we were greeted at the door by servers offering a signature drink (the Mathematician, themed after our company’s work), and walked into a two floor space with views of the NY and NJ skyline all around us. I spent part of the night downstairs with the music and food, and part of the night upstairs at tables with Cards Against Humanity set out, letting loose with what was mostly the engineering cohort.

Many times, I reflected on how different this was from my first Holiday Party with this company, when we had 140 people worldwide and only one Manhattan office. Now we are up to 600 people, about 450 of them spread across our (temporarily) 3 Manhattan offices. There were so many faces I didn’t know, and yet I still felt a strong sense of kinship with all of these people.

I would often bump into people that I don’t work with day to day, and one question would come up often: “So, are you back full time now?”

To which I would smile and say, “Nope.”

It’s been roughly a year since I negotiated with my boss that when I returned from maternity leave, it would be part time. We didn’t put an end date on it, we just said we’d continue to check in to evaluate how it was going. I feel incredibly thankful for the arrangement that I have. It is wonderful to maintain my professional self, and yet to spend 5 days a week home with my daughter, watching her grow and change and just being there for her.

Professionally, there have certainly been some sacrifices. I am not in the office everyday, so I miss face time and less import meetings, and I have to sometimes take a sidelines role in projects I’d like to be more involved in. Whereas I once saw all company outings as a chance to network and thereby increase my effectiveness and enjoyment of work, last night was typical of where I’m at now – I darted out at 8:30 upon hearing that my daughter was hysterical, saying “Mama” and signing for milk but rejecting the bottle. I barely slept last night, but my reasons differ from most of my peers.

But it’s so worth it. I have decades to continue to build my career. I am so lucky to keep it moving along while I spend the time with my daughter now.

8.5 month snapshot

My daughter is about 8 and a half months old. I rarely have time to really sit and write, but I’m going to try to save a bit of memory here.


I’m writing now on my way to work. I am still going to work twice a week, on Thursdays and Fridays. It’s getting very hard to work at home. I try to do 3 hours on Monday and 3 hours on Wednesday.


My daughter doesn’t nap much. I hear from other moms about these 2 hour naps or a 45 minutes nap being short and it sounds like some other world. I am not upset about it, it is what it is. I try to extend her naps sometimes… Nurse or rock or sing or stroll, hoping she’ll go back to sleep. But it’s just not her. Once she’s up, she thinks things are too interesting to miss. I noticed this about her several months ago and it hasn’t changed. Another mom that watched her for an afternoon confessed that she thought with her practice and success with her own daughter that surely she’d be able to extend my daughter’s nap when she was up after 20 minutes, and was surprised to learn she was wrong.


I think long naps just aren’t in my daughter’s nature right now and that’s ok. But it does mean those 3 hours of work I try to do at home must be with her mostly awake. And now she gets into things so easily. She’s a pro at crawling and she pulls up to standing. Sometimes she even let’s go with one or both hands. She takes some tumbles most days but jumps right back into trying after a brief cuddle and reassurance. She is fearless! Her propensity to explore her physical skills is much more like me than her father.


One day last week she stood on her own. It was a very wide stance. We were on the grass where there was a slight Hill, she was pushing up and the next thing I knew nothing was on the ground but her feet. I sort of stared at her dumbfounded and proud.


As we approach the marker of her time outside the womb equalling her time in it, I’ve also been reflecting on my own changes over this time. I gained around 45 pounds with the pregnancy. I was nervous about if I would return to my former shape, but also so happy to be a mom that I felt it would be worth it even if not, so I wasn’t stressing. I also felt that modelling healthy behavior was important. And with breastfeeding and the activity involved in caring for an infant in NYC, the pounds melted off, slowly but surely. I was able to fit into my pre-pregnancy jeans at about 7 months post-partum, and now I even need a belt for those. It’s so remarkable what the female body can do!

I’ve never been so happy for so long. I just adore this little girl, being a mom, watching my husband light up to see our daughter and hearing her giggle as they play together.

Life is beautiful.