The birth of one baby

My paper baby was born!
On May 1, my facebook status read:
My paper baby weighed in at 5.65 pounds. Baby was delivered safely and mom is healthy and happy. She'll wear her gown in three weeks.

I didn't report its length. I guess I knew my audience included several people who were in the middle of their own labors of love and didn't want to shock them by announcing that my paper baby measured in at 227 pages. 

Just moments after I got to hold it, I delivered it to the School of Education at Hamline University and took its photo:

My paper baby. My paper, baby!

Then, just like that, it was gone. )How quickly they grow up to live on their own shelves in the library. ;-))

I have to say that it was just as satisfying to shake the administrative assistant's hand as it was to get the acceptance of my committee members and adviser. I think because it was official: I was done.

People comment about how great this accomplishment is. Some even say that they don't think they could do it themselves. I guess I tend to believe I can do anything I set my mind to do. My mom, godmother and family friend do physical challenges every year--usually biking, but we did go dogsledding. I think skydiving is also on the agenda. I climbed down and out of the Grand Canyon in one day (not recommended by me--or anyone!). I ran in a marathon relay with my cousins. It's all doable. 

The secret is discipline and perseverance--and having an amazing support team. I purposely chose my committee members with the intention that the process be efficient, thoughtful, thorough and FUN! And, it was. 

First of all, we met in a kitchen in a house owned by the university. A kitchen. So, we always had tea and I always brought freshly baked goods from Dan's kitchen. I have a friend who offices in the upstairs of the house where my committee's meetings were held. She said she knew my meetings must have been going well, but was surprised about how much laughter there was. My team asked great questions. All. The. Time. They gave me great feedback. All. The. Time. (Especially when I was able to point out a few areas that I wanted specific feedback on.) They were committed to getting me through the process--maybe even just as much as I was committed. It truly was an amazing team effort. I couldn't have asked for a better experience.

Last summer my adviser and I talked about how most people have such a difficult time somewhere during the process. She said some people aren't willing to listen, some people don't want to change anything, some people aren't open to feedback, etc. She warned that there would be a time when I would want to strangle her. That time never came. There was only one evening when I had a breakdown. (And, I could recognize that it was because of unmet expectations and thwarted intentions. Heartbreak, man.)

Here's the moment I cried:

When I couldn't get pagination to begin on page 3.

That was it. My meltdown was not because of the other 232 pages, the months of data collection, months of revision, hundreds of edits, or multiple drafts. It was because of formatting. Jesus. Mary. Joseph.

And, with six days before D-Day I had one more moment of panic. My adviser was concerned about how many revisions I would need to make to the final draft. She didn't think I could get it finished before the May 2 deadline. However, those tears were quick. I realized that she had read a draft from three days prior. (I thought she had accessed my draft from "the cloud," and knew there was a lot to work on in the one she had read. That was why I had locked myself in to work on it three days in a row!) I didn't have the heart to tell her. I just powered through, sending her a few things every day for her approval. Four days before D-Day, she said she was surprised at how quickly I was getting things done. I still didn't have the heart to tell her. My paper was completed on Monday, printed at FedEx on Tuesday morning, and delivered Tuesday at noon. One day to spare.

After shaking hands with the admin. assistant, I picked up my regalia at the bookstore. The next evening, Dan unpacked my tam, hood, and gown. And reenacted graduation scenarios in the living room:

What I may or may not look like at commencement.

I think both of us are ready for new chapters in our lives.