Elie's Day
One day with two parents, two jobs, one potty-training Batgirl in 800 square feet.
My friend Elie lives in New York City in a comfortable one-bedroom apartment on the second floor. Since their baby girl, referred to popularly and herein as “Batgirl,” they’ve converted their place into a two-bedroom. The balcony, rickety, looking out over an airshaft where you can hear nothing other than the HVAC equipment on the building next door, is not an option for escape. They’re lucky, healthy, and rich with toilet paper. They even managed to get yeast, and by some bizarre luck, they had some Lysol (wipes and aerosol!) left from The Before Times.
In The Before Times, his wife went to her office every day. Depending on Elie’s schedule, they had a nanny come a few days a week and take care of Batgirl, now two and a half years old. The other days, Elie managed to balance his daughter and his clients well enough to make it financially worth not having the nanny come. Now, it’s a mess, and he was kind enough to write down exactly what his days are like.
by Elie Jacobs
6:30a
Wife’s alarm goes off. I’ve been up for at least an hour already (hello Mr. Anxiety!). Was up too late trying to make progress on the “Big Project” (BP) for my main client and stressing about bringing in some additional income. Wife pokes at me to get up. I can already sense she’s (still?) annoyed with me for having had that generous refill on my Old Fashioned last night. We’ve gotten used to sleeping until 7:30 or sometimes 8 (we are blessed with a child who sleeps very well – please don’t hate us), but we (read: wife) decided now would be an ideal time to start potty training, including nighttime training.
7:00a
Of the thousands of courtesies my wife grants me, allowing me to take my sweet ass time getting ready in the morning is top three. Gives me some undisturbed time to loosen up during a long shower, get through email and catch up on the news undistracted.
Christ, my back and hips are tight. I know the wife is doing her Nike Training App. God bless her. I don’t think I’ve purposefully broken a sweat in weeks. If I counted my steps, there have been days I probably haven’t broken 250. I’d love to say I’m going to work out today but adding another item on the to-do list is crippling…
Before the day starts, I know the 3 things I have to accomplish today: make progress on BP, write a memo, and pitch a story for another client. I’ve found pitching reporters to be the absolute hardest thing to do during what I’ve taken to calling The Now. I detested cold pitching before and tried to avoid it. Now? It’s virtually impossible, and I just feel bad for the reporters trying to do the WFH balance without having jerks like me bug them with some not-very-interesting piece of news. (Is anything non-pandemic newsworthy these days?)
8:07a
“DADDA!!!” Batgirl comes running to find me, blue eyes blazing, goofy grin planted on her face. Slip on shorts I’ve been wearing for a month. Quick hug, toss her on the bed and tickle her sides. Anything to get her to giggle. It’s my amphetamine. She’s off to finish changing “Dov Bear’s” (her teddy bear) diaper. It’s an elaborate activity. Dov Bear is looking worse for wear. My wife and I are terrified of anything happening to him. Batgirl has a whole menagerie of other stuffed toys. Each will get her attention for a few hours, but only in the context of the bear. I contacted the hotel in London a relative brought it back from to see about procuring some “spares.” They very nicely agreed but said it’d need to wait until after things get back to normal. Clearly, they’ve gotten the request previously, as they kindly reminded me “you may not be able to fool your little one.” She’s inherited my skepticism. There’s no way she’ll fall for it. She is my mini-me, from the way she looks to her habits and picadilloes, which is both wonderful and terrifying.
Feels like this is a two-bags-of-strong-black-tea kind of morning. Throw back some vitamins with a glass of Emergen-C as I wait for the water to boil. Grab a banana. Wife looks to be on third cup of coffee and stressed. I think she’s actually handling this way better than she gives herself credit. She’s also mastered the Fresh Direct delivery algorithms, so we have a fairly regular stream of groceries coming to us. She’s more reluctant than I am to venture outside. She’s a fashion designer for a mass retailer. They’ve already furloughed her staff. We know what’s coming at some point, and likely soon. I’m trying not to stress about the need for me to make up for the loss in income. In the meantime, she and her team are trying to keep busy with – literal – busy work, so her days are still relatively structured.
We compare schedules and figure out when she’ll need the bedroom for calls and if I’ll be relegated to the building stairwell and when each of us can occupy Batgirl for a while so the other can get some uninterrupted work done. We’ve developed a decent routine, but it’s not easy. We’re not Robinson and Duncan or Stockton and Malone (I’d never compare anything to Pippen/Jordan). It’s more like Shaq and Kobe: winning, but occasionally glaring at each other.
Make the child some chocolate milk – heavy on the milk with just enough chocolate syrup to sell it. She grabs it out of my hand like an addict. “You’re welcome,” I say prompting her. Usually I don’t have to. “THANK YOU, DADA”. That’ll keep me going for a while.
8:15a
Sit down at computer. Batgirl is immediately on my lap. Somehow she smells like maple syrup, or maybe that’s the odor of happiness? She’s reaching for the iPad. I’ll spend the next while working over and around her as she binges whatever (hopefully) educational thing we’ve pulled up for her to watch/interact with.
It is remarkably disturbing how quickly she’s became adept at manipulating an iPad. Check what Apple is trading at. Get distracted by some other headline. My already short attention span has virtually evaporated over the last few weeks.
Wife is sitting across from me, hard at work. We won’t say much to each other over the next few hours. Oddly, we text about as often as we did while she was still going to an office. I hope that’s just an attempt to create some kind of line of demarcation between work and home in an 800-square-foot space.
8:38a
How is Pluto a pet and Goofy is an anthropomorphic character? Is that like having a human as a pet? How have I never noticed this before? And now I’m distracted, again. When was the last time Batgirl got outside for some fresh air? A week? Ten days? When was the last time my wife got outside? Parks are too crowded for our liking, but she really needs to get out and run. Still have a bunch of things to read before I can get to work.
9:13a
How much time did I just waste on Facebook and Twitter?
Texting with The Friends ensues. I love these people and love our text-a-thons. Helps to keep me sane. Can’t get through these five articles I must read in advance of a call this afternoon.
9:42a
My mild-and-very-undiagnosed misophonia is hyperactive this morning. Everyone needs to stop breathing, eating, chewing and swallowing. Immediately. Batgirl may have it too. She’s started covering her ears and yelling “too loud me!” Thankfully we’re far enough west and away from the hospitals that we rarely hear sirens. Friends who live closer to hospitals say it’s a nightmare.
Thinking how nice it’d be to walk up to e’s Bar later in the day, shake the bartenders’ hands, catch up with some regulars, and have a drink or two. Not even quarter to ten and already thinking about drinking. Fan-damn-tastic.
10:01a
Remind Batgirl that her potty is in her room. Get through four of the five articles. I need to digest. Get to work on memo.
10:35a
Child now sitting across from me at our 5’x5’ table we all work around, engrossed in some alphabet game on iPad. Watching her learn is way more fulfilling than I would have guessed. Wife’s on conference call in the bedroom. Get back to work, rapidly get distracted by an email from a former colleague with a link she insists is #MUSTREAD. It was not.
10:39a
Hear water running, nay, RUSHING. Glance to where Batgirl was sitting. She’s gone. Goddamnit. Stand up to see Batgirl nearly levitating from the force of the pee she’s unleashing on the floor. Thankfully, today was a “She’s-refusing-to-wear-anything-other-than-a-bathing-suit” day, but sadly the ensemble included her fancy unicorn shoes. She is drenched. Grab child, drop her on her little potty, grab a few paper towel (they are the new currency), start the cleanup. Carry her through the bedroom to the tub – hopefully wife is on mute – quickly wash off child in tub then leave her with wife so I can go clean up. Did I just hear my wife’s boss say they should start drinking on these calls? SO. MUCH. PEE. How in the hell does she store that up?
10:50a
On couch with child, now wearing bathing suit #2. Playing a toddler puzzle game on the iPad that some Daddy Blog (be careful when you Google those) suggested. She’s figured it out before me. Oh well. I’m stuck on couch for the foreseeable future with her and the iPad.
Try to step back and recognize how wonderful it is to have all this time with her…as she elbows me in the nuts.
10:56a
I can hear and see email and texts coming in. Praying the phone call is spam. Wife takes my place on couch.
11:15a
Headphones go in.
Wife’s twice-a-day sneezing fit. Boggles the mind that someone can sneeze upwards of a dozen times in a row for seemingly no reason…every day.
Sonofabitch, back on Twitter. Trump said WHAT?
12:17p
I finally get the memo into a reasonable enough place to set it aside for a few hours and let it marinate in my brain.
Managed to actually compose thoughtful, lengthy responses to a few emails, before Batgirl starts pulling at my arm to help her find her monkey. “I no see baby monkey anywhere!” I have got to get some significant progress on BP done today. Shit. It ain’t gonna happen, is it?
12:30p
Head to bedroom to take a call. Debate turning lights off and taking a nap.
Manage to get three reporters on the phone. One of them is interested, huge relief. Thankfully this small project will be done in a few days. Not the kind of straight media relations project I usually do, but a friend needed help and the money was good.
1:52p
Sit down to lunch. Leftovers from last night. Child yelling “No like me. No like me”
“what don’t you like, sweetie?”
“no like noonels”.
“Yes you do baby girl. Just try them”
….
….
“Oh, I like noonels.”
<Phew>
2:15p
Downstairs neighbor texts Wife saying she has an important presentation at 2:45 and asks us to be quiet. Better than her banging on her ceiling and scaring the child.
Distracted by text with headline about some new horror. Commence text catch-up with sender.
Return focus to BP.
2:30p
More Daniel Tiger. If you haven’t seen it, think Mr. Rogers Neighborhood but staring an animated tiger. Of the things she could be watching, this is one of the better ones. Wife begins to warn child that nap time in is in 30 minutes. “NO NAP” she screams as she rubs her eyes.
3:03p
We know there is no chance she’s napping. She’s got that look. We debate drugging her so we can both get some work done. Agree we aren’t those people. I’ll admit we’ve done it twice. First time, it made her hyper. Second time…it did not.
3:18p
The demand of “No Mamma. Dadda rawk!” emanates from her room. She’s on my lap on her rocking chair, with her index finger most of the way up my nose. This is not going to be pleasant. I try to take advantage of her attachment to me now, knowing it isn’t going to last forever.
Hear email come in. Have breakthrough thought for how to structure the BP. Sadly, realize I will forget it by the time I get back to my computer. FCK. Memory is the other thing that seems to have evaporated in The Now.
<Exhale>
3:28p
After a battle, Batgirl is finally napping, wife is sketching. Her ability to focus amazes me – like the walls could crumble and she wouldn’t notice. Try to catch up and get this memo (did I mention it’s only three pages long?) wrapped up.
3:57p
Crap. She’s doing it again. Upstairs neighbor is moving furniture to get her Peloton into place for her daily ride. Why not just leave the bike there? How does she ALWAYS find a squeaky board to put it on? You’d be forgiven if you thought she were a 385-pound man with some kind of muscle problem that leads him to drop things constantly. Also, her bathroom remodel project collapsed our ceiling twice in as many years. I do not care for her.
4:11p
Former client calls. Starts call by saying, “No time to ask how everyone is. I f*cked up. I think I just straight up lied to a reporter.” He’s right, he did f*ck up, but I can push this to tomorrow. A little bit more income will be nice.
4:35p
I have a conference call at five. Decide it’s time to get some fresh air. Haven’t been outside in two days. It’s been a little too chilly to have the windows open, so the air in here is stale. Get dressed in non-elastic-waisted pants and shoes with actual laces. Grab wallet, phone, headphones, pen, notebook, keys, facemask, vinyl gloves, and slip a few singles into my back pocket. Getting a very “Andy Dufresne after reaching the river in Shawshank” vibe.
Walk the five hundred-odd yards to the bodega across the street from e’s Bar. Sigh wistfully. Sign on door reads: “Must wear mask and gloves. Only two customers allowed.” Peer inside to ensure there are no other shoppers. This is a small bodega, not one of those that has everything under the sun. Spend too much time perusing the overwhelming beer selection. Consider some IPA I’ve never seen before. Chuckle at the memory of me and MM dragging FS about IPAs. Put it back in fridge and buy a cheap tall boy – debate upgrading to a 40. Place singles on the counter, tell him to keep the change. Have to avoid touching common things. Thank him repeatedly. Walk down to a bench on Riverside Drive, take out notebook and pen, dial into call, crack beer, remove facemask, sip beer, take first deep breath in a day and a half. It’s a little chilly, I should have worn my other coat, but it’s better than being inside. Sun is out.
Few cars are on the roads. It’s eerie. Most of the people out are walking dogs. A few people pushing strollers. There goes the fifth jogger. No one is out here for fun. Everyone is wearing masks. It’s legit scary. It seems wrong to be outside. Like that second underage drink you had. The first one was all adrenaline and fear. The second one though, that one just felt like you were doing something wrong.
I spent a few very late hours of election night 2016 on a bench a few north of here. Phone on airplane mode, blasting Rage Against the Machine in my ears, drinking a lot of whisky from a red Solo cup. I’m barely paying attention to this call.
I’ve been working for myself for more than five years. I’m used to not really speaking face-to-face with people most of the day. I find it lonely from time to time, but it’s great to be my own boss and there are always bars and gyms to talk to people. When I get too overwhelmed, I try to remember what my father said when I told him I was starting my own thing: “That’s great. The only trouble is that your only employee is an idiot.” Sage advice that somehow always makes me feel better.
Hear someone asking me a question on the call. Shit. How long was I spaced out? Ask a follow up to try to get some more context. Take a deep breath – which now seems dangerous – say something that apparently is smart and conclusive. Beer’s been done for a while now. Call is wrapping up. Put mask back on. Glasses fog up with first exhale. I hate this. Consider walking back to bodega for another one. Decide to just sit here for a few more minutes. Put some music on. Check FT app and Twitter, send a meme to a WhatsApp group.
5:45p
Batgirl is still sleeping. Gotta get her up otherwise bedtime will be a nightmare. She’s sleeping ass up in the air, Dov Bear nestled under her arm. Start prepping for dinner. Wife agrees we should open a bottle of wine. Based on the way she’s moving, her back is bothering her, suggesting she’s even more stressed. At the beginning of The Now, I’d make her proper cocktails. But we’ve drank most of the hard liquor.
Finish memo. Re-read cover email three times. Press “send”.
<exhale>
7:00p
Nightly city-wide cheer for essential workers. Seems particularly robust tonight. Try not to cry.
7:05p
Wife takes toddler to bath. Used to be my job. Not sure when/why that changed. I clear table, do dishes, clean up, prep her room for bedtime. Check headlines, email and respond to texts. Proton Mail and Signal both light up. Shit. Whatever this is will be time consuming.
7:34p
Wrestle Batgirl into her PJs and start to read her a story as wife gets her toothbrush ready so we can get going on Round 3 of wrestling. She now has my quarantine beard in both hands and is pulling. I really prefer when she just softly pets it. She’s lucky she’s f*cking adorable.
8:00p
Dark, quiet room. Happy offspring on my lap. I can actually feel tension releasing. I am contented.
8:16p
Can hear phone vibrating from texts. Hope it’s nothing pressing – usually is just BS. Try to get back to being Zen.
8:20p
She’s asleep. Kiss her head, ease her into crib. Go take a leak. Get back to computer while wife showers. Nothing pressing. Can try and make progress on the BP (remember that?).
9:42p
Can’t focus anymore. Turn on Bosch. Wife is watching Nailed It in the bedroom. At the start of The Now we were watching things together. I do love that she’s been watching The Last Dance with me every Sunday night. No idea if she’s enjoying it but appreciate the hell out of her watching something that she knows is important to me.
10:44p
Get into bed. Quickly do the Times’ “Daily Mini” crossword. Check email, headlines, f*cking Twitter one last time. Put phone down. Kiss wife. Hope sleep comes soon. Try not to think about anything.
What Elie’s reading
I’m a Defensive Pessimist.
The Scooby Doo article we’ve all been waiting for.
The OG ghost airline.
Didn’t expect The Hot Hand to be as interesting as it is.
My friend and former colleague, Bob’s book.
Never doubt for a second how vital it is to have good communications (and Bill de Blasio is the worst).
Came across this again. Still one of the best ledes ever.
There’s naïve and then there’s Justin Amash. Bless his heart.
What Elie’s watching
The Last Dance, obviously.
Bosch. If you like dark and gritty, pour a glass and dive in (6 seasons!).
If you haven’t, get with the Patriot.
Just a shit ton of Daniel Tiger.
What Elie’s listening to
This epic Mad Season concert
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