After two weeks of hearing nothing since I last met with The Good Congressman and his office, I decided to bite the bullet and follow up with an email, asking what they thought of the statement I wrote for him regarding a hot topic du jour and suggesting that I’m available for part-time work if they are reconsidering a full-time press secretary.
Then I went to the bathroom.
In that three minutes, the chief of staff responded to my email with a voicemail, which I always find ominous. He simply said that he was planning to call me this morning anyway and to give him a call when I could.
So I went to the bathroom again and then puttered around the house, avoiding what I assumed would be a phone call ending with my chirpy-cheerful voice explaining that I understood their decision to go in another direction.
Finally the waves of anticipatory-disappointment nausea subsided sufficiently for me to return the chief of staff’s call and after polite chit-chat about last week’s holiday, he offered me the job.
It’s a handsome offer, for sure. And they would like me to start this week so I’m on the payroll for July. And I told them at the last meeting that I’m pregnant and due in September, so that won’t be a surprise to them if I take the job.
I love my furry clients, and was looking forward to three walks a day with some of them next week. As God would have it though, the second I hung up with The Good Congressman’s office, two of those walks were canceled all week. And so the plot thickens.
I called the husband and will meet him for lunch to discuss our options. On one hand, the income, the job that advances my career, the fun of going to work (which I realized I miss while walking Dietrich this morning) and having coworkers, the pride of working hard and playing hard, all those things are, again, on one hand. On the other hand, should I take the job we’ll be looking at daycare for the little oyster on very short notice, long days away from home when I will want to be there most, hiring a walker or sitter for Dietrich, and planning the intricacies of doctor appointments and maternity leave. The husband and I must discuss.
In other news, there’s a special election to replace the congressman who represents the district I grew up in, because he bailed on his job with only weeks to go until an election he wasn’t even running in this time. The cost of this special election to a district in a severely cash-strapped state grates on me, and the husband and I briefly laughed about the possibility of me running in the special election to replace this man. A temporary job with good pay, I wouldn’t be a threat in the general election, I know the district well, and I already live in DC so the taxpayers of the former home district would not be shelling out more money for me to maintain two residences. Plus, the little oyster’s grandparents live in that district, so obviously it’s in my own best interest to represent these fine people well. If only I had a way to gather 1,000 signatures 700 miles away in nine days, I’d say the matter was settled.
Instead, I’ll meet the husband for lunch and we’ll discuss the handsome offer that has been extended.