Therapy is pointless. They won't let me take any drugs anyway.

I have to confess that I was a little jazzed after the seminar - ready to take on staff budgets and electoral candidates with wild abandon. And then I remembered something: I'm pregnant.
Re-entry or launching can be an uncertain enterprise. Especially when there's someone else strapped to your belly.
The truth is, I'm not sure going back to the real world (or the working world) is an option for me. I'm headed for the world of Mothers Who Used to Work But Who Are Now Attempting To Validate Themselves Through Their Children. It, too, is a frightening place. Yesterday we heard words like "innovate" and "value." How do I learn how to innovate my home life to make it stimulating, interesting, productive and positive enough so that I'm a good mother who can still engage in conversations that do not involve diapers or spit-up? How do I remember to place value on that work? I can't save the world of journalism right now. I can only save my little cub reporters and their editor.
And perhaps that's the next step, for all of us. To take a breath and then another. Hold the hand of the person next to you and breathe again. Concentrate on what you can do now. The bigger steps can come after.
Sure, it's not going to be easy, and for some of you lucky people, prescription drugs will help. But I am happy to know that this caring group of people I trust can help me through it. So hang on there, little tomatoes! We don't have to figure it all out in the next four weeks.