Sweet Relief

My coworker got the job. She's now my boss. Our big head boss stepped in at the very end of the day after everyone else had left to tell her. The official offer comes tomorrow, but he said he wanted her to sleep more easily tonight. While I felt 90% sure she would get it, it is such a relief to know she's got it. I like her, and I think she's going to be terrific. She's good to my departments, she trusts me and this is about the best news possible.

Mostly, to turn it back to me (aren't I the focus here?!), my job is now a lot more secure. There is a strong possibility that my departments will be negative at the end of the year, mostly for reasons beyond my control. She's got the backstory, she's had a front row for what I've been doing, she'll protect me. And she's in process of reclassing me, so that's a relief, since my additional compensation is over March 1. There is talk that I may take over another department. Maybe not. Very speculative. I just know there are a lot of problems right now with a department, and I know that that is one of the potential solutions. Could be good, could send me to the loony bin. . .

At the least, I feel a little more confident about ttc if we go that route, it's a bit of a relief all around.

* * * * *

In other news, after a lot of contemplation, I decided to do a write up about Gabriel for our March for Babies campaign. I talked it over with DH at length, about my hesitation, talked more with the communications director about what she was looking for in it, and specifics. I decided to write it and sleep on it a couple of nights.

I did write it. I thought for a long time about what I wanted to say, and how to do it. I wanted to leave out the medical issues, and I wanted to be clear that our experience was not that of NICU parents. I wanted to make the point that prematurity still happens, that death still happens and that even though MoD does amazing work and many of us are fortunate not to know the dark sides of prematurity - they are still there. And what happens when your child dies is staggering in the enormity and that it's not easy or simple. And I wanted to say all of that with the right balance of peace and pain, morbidity and optimism, encouragement without manipulation. In 500 words. Y'all, that might have been the harder part.

But I wrote it, got some feedback, and thought about it for awhile. In the end, I decided I was comfortable with it. It was honest without being raw, and it gave a lot of information that I had to think about sharing. Still, I reached a place of peace with it. I gave it to the communications director and she's very happy with it, very eager to proceed. She thinks that sharing his story will really inspire people to participate in March for Babies and that is a good thing. Anything good that comes from Gabe's short life brings us a small measure of peace and a pride beyond what I could have imagined.

So that too is a relief.