Since having the baby I've been back at work part-time, so, in theory, Tuesdays and Thursdays are for mom-son-one-on-one time. Sometimes it works out that way, sometimes not. Legal work doesn't accommodate itself very willingly to the whipsaw stops and starts of a part-time schedule; it's a job that commands your attention more or less constantly. (It's all in the "more" or "less," part-time schedule or no.) Anyway, yesterday was an "off" day, and the morning hours went something like this.

• Up at 5:00 a.m., then again at 6:00, with Tyler. He's a pre-waker, likes to think about waking up, then think the better of it for awhile. Change diaper (his), clothes (both of ours), ponytail the hair (showers are in short supply on days like these), minimal other personal grooming. (I remember at this point that my Dad gave me a manicure for Mother's Day. The certificate for the massage my husband gave me for '04 Mother's Day is still sitting on my desk. I'm afraid there's little hope for improving the state of my back or nails in the very near future.) Must get Tyler to the gastrointestinal doc early to talk about his digestive problems. (Delicacy and my son's potential future mortification prevent me from offering more detail.)
• Thomas keeps us company for breakfast. (Watch these enough times and you'll identify the counterpart of every one of your work colleagues and most common work dilemmas.) I respond to email, Tyler eats Cheerios and fruit. Clean up, take trash out, take trash cans to curb, take dry cleaning to garage for the day's pick-up. Make sure I have diapers, wipes, sippy cup of water, more Cheerios, purse, wallet, keys, iPod, Tyler's insurance card, growth chart, and the six pages of questions the new GI doc needed us to answer. Make sure I have the little patient. Bundle him into his car seat and we're on our way.
• Listen to and dig Dave Winer's podcast about how you don't send children back to the drawing board (literally) because their artwork lacks good production values. Feel simultaneously guilty and justified about zipping past commute traffic in the car pool lane.
• Arrive early for a change at the doctor's, thanks to the magic of HOV and the generosity of the legislature. Watch a couple wrestle an unweildy metal wagon bearing their five-year-old son, soft blankets, and oxygen tanks into the elevator in front of me. This doctor's office is adjacent to the local children's hospital, and folks apparently aren't there for just the sniffles.
• It's so early the doc's staff hasn't arrived yet, and she checks us in and ushers us back herself. A long consultation and examination ensues, involving measuring (with much thrashing), weighing (surprisingly little thrashing), probing (unimaginable thrashing and shrieking), and playing with the treasure trove of toys intelligently cached in the exam room.
• She winds up concluding everything's not far from fine, and we should start by making some adjustments to my son's diet. (Which could in all likelihood benefit from some closer attention...kidding, all you people with CPS on speed dial!)
• The smooth ride and Dave's midi of "Dixie" conspire to lull Tyler into an early nap on the way home. We accomplish the delicate car seat-to-crib maneuver, and I spend the next 90 minutes working on a brief, answering email, coordinating what will hopefully be a beneficial (for all concerned) referral to one of my east coast colleagues that originated with a friend in the blogosphere, spend two minutes posting intriguing links to bgbg and bl, spend three minutes writing text to go along with the next installment of Sound Policy (an interview with Fred von Lohmann), spend those same three minutes thinking in the background about why Evan Schaeffer's decision is unfortunate (particularly in his case) and shortsighted, answer the baby monitor at Noon, and another morning is in the can.