I just finished a major project at work last week. A complete redesign of our university faculty website. One of my colleagues aptly compared it to birthing a child. The more I think about it, the better that comparison seems.
From the moment of conception the site’s DNA needed to be mapped. Where would the head, arms, and legs go? What about the body and all of the stuff that needs to eventually be added inside?
There were months of waiting when seemingly nothing was happening, and as time passed, the site began to kick around in the womb. Probably kicking in agony as vital organs developed. Anatomical systems like the student services cardiovascular system, the course and registration muscular system, and the faculty and staff skeletal system, led to uncomfortable sleepless nights.
As the project neared completion I experienced the joys of Braxton Hicks leading up to the real contractions when one launch date after another passed by with more and more details piled up.
As I lay exhausted in my office after the launch, I logged in to admire my new child. It was perfect and I held onto that perfection for nearly a week. Then we announced to the world that our child had arrived.
People started to visit and point out her flaws. Is she missing a finger? Shouldn’t she be smiling by now? What is that awful smell?
Now I’m dealing with baby poop and latching issues, or rather, lost links and redirects. But that’s okay, because this baby is going to grow up fast and I’ll be able to more or less abandon it on the doorstep of the dean’s office in another 2 months.
That’s not the case with the fraternal twin site that keeps popping in and out of the womb like a whack-a-mole on meth. Yes, I simultaneously attempted to birth another website, this one for my own, soon to be, blossoming business. I’ll tell you all about it when I finally get this sucker pushed out!