I feel like writing tonight ...

I feel like writing tonight. It's a good feeling. One I haven't had in a while. So, please, indulge me.

I usually spend Monday night (and, often, the early hours of Tuesday morning) among the flourescent lights and steady chatter of a newsroom. Tonight I'm home. It's dark. And the only noise is the steady ticking of Mitchell's swing across the room.

He's not feeling well, and sleeping even less well. He likes it in his swing. And I like him being there.

Mitchell being sick is partially why I feel like writing tonight. Mondays had become somewhat routine, if not easy. Steph comes to help. My Monday day-time workload is lighter than other days. Zoe is at preschool for a couple hours in the morning. Mondays are, in general, a good day.

Today, Mitchell rarely slept ... and never did he sleep at the same time Alyse did, which is always a desired outcome. He cried. A lot. Steph couldn't get to our house as early as she normally does because of her own work obligations. And Zoe always gets emotional and stressed out when the babies cry a lot, partially because it means less attention for her. This Monday was not a good day.

But sitting here in the dark, listening to Mitchell's swing tick, the cloud of self-pity suddenly lifted.

Some back story:

People are leaving my places of work at an alarming rate. One, the day-time corporate gig, because my team was full of young up-and-comers looking for greener pastures. The other, the newspaper, because the industry is crumbling like Feta cheese.

Years ago, when I was managing a restaurant in a college town and considering making that a career, my friends and co-workers (mostly college students working part-time) started filing out of town one-by-one. Grad school. Cool jobs in big cities. Travelling the world. I got depressed, re-evaluated my life, went back to school and moved on.

Now it's happening again. One co-worker left for law school. Another took a year off to travel the world -- Greece, Albania, Montenegro, Croatia, Slovenia, Austria, Switzerland, France, Africa and the Middle East. Others are finding good jobs, making good money doing things I can do in my sleep. This time my way of joining the exodus has been to re-invent jobs for myself that allow me to stay home and change diapers all day.

There've been times -- before tonight, in the dark with the ticking swing -- that I've questioned the decision. Self-worth and future career options and financial ramifications aside, I also wonder if I'm, quite frankly, a good enough parent to pull it off. Is the risk worth the reward?

Tonight, I realized it is. There wasn't even a "gotcha" moment. Sorry if you were waiting for one.

I turned off the lights, turned off the TV, closed the three partially-written stories on my laptop and sat in the dark listening to Mitchell's ticking swing. In that rare moment of calmness, the metronome effect of that swing spelled it out: You. Are. Where. You. Want. To. Be.

Since I started this post, the quiet was interrupted by Mitchell's cries. He's lying on my chest now, his fever still apparent through my T-shirt. Steady breathing has replaced the ticking swing.

Tomorrow will be harder. No preschool for Zoe. No family members coming to town. A little more work on my plate. I should get some sleep to prepare, but I don't want to wake Mitchell.

He's not feeling well, and sleeping even less well. He likes it on my chest. And I like him being there.