I am back at work.
& I’m really, really exhausted. Not only is my ass numb, my carpel tunnel screaming, but my head feels like it was invaded by 1000 wrackspurts (thank you, Harry Potter reference). Which, of course, explains why this post is coming to you on a Wednesday evening, versus the moment I popped back home on Monday. My goal was to write on Monday – to chronicle exactly how I felt in that moment, so that I wouldn’t be so numbed by an aching back & pounding head mid-week that I couldn’t focus.
Mission failed, obviously. & with that, I am inducted into the Working Mothers Hall of Fame. You can find me in the “Best Intentions” section on the third floor.
Sunday night was absolute hell – I cried a grand total of five times. I know, it doesn’t sound like much but a) I’m not a crier and b) these were dramatic, fat tears & choking sobs. & I really did not want to cry in front of Nate. I didn’t want my tears to become a resounding gong in his head, screaming “Your job isn’t good enough! Your job isn’t good enough! Look at what you’re making me do!” But everything in my soul cried how wrong it felt to leave Harrison. I never thought I would want to stay home, until I had Harrison. I never understood the pull to be the sole caretaker of your child, until Harrison. But every time he smiled at me on Sunday, my heart felt like it broke a little more & at one point while Nate was fixing the bath, I completely broke down. He came into the nursery to find me holding Harrison over my shoulder, sobbing into his bare back. Through my hand, I waved my hand & smiled & said I was just being silly. But when we crawled in bed, I lost it completely. Big, fat tears started spilling onto the pages of my book until Nate finally took my face & said, “Honey, talk to me.”
I’d like to say that I talked, but it was more a blubbery, confusing mess ending with a massive amount of snot on his shirt. ”I didn’t want this,” I sobbed. ”I didn’t want to make you feel like you could have done something differently. But I just can’t bear the thought of leaving him.”
I wish I could say that a magical fairy bounded down from the star-lit skies with a fat stack of cash, waving pixie dust over our house & turning me into a housewife that cooks like Paula Deen & lunches at a cafe in pearls & peep-toe pumps. But unfortunately, that sob-fest ended with troubled sleep & a 5:45am wake-up call for all three of us.
The good news? The anticipation was FAR WORSE than the reality of being a working mom & leaving Harrison. Once I got to work, put up a few pictures of the boy & settled in, I felt okay. In fact, I kind of enjoy it. Mostly because I love my job & I’ve never dug in my heels to head into the office. & I like our new morning routine, where all three of us are up, awake, & in fantastic moods. I like the kisses & smiles & bubble-blowing that occurs while I curl my hair. The smell of hazelnut coffee brewing downstairs, ready to be poured into travel mugs. I love that Nate & I leave at the same time so that I miss traffic, but then I get to have breakfast with The Momma & Harrison at the ol’ homestead. (she’s keeping Harrison for the first month due to flu season, bless her heart) & to be honest, I really enjoy not being screamed at 12 hours of the day.
The bad news? I am always thinking of Harrison. Always wondering if he’s missing me. If he’s wondering where I am. If he opens his eyes after his nap & wonders why I’m not there. I know that he’s only three months old…but in my heart, I wonder if it ever sinks in that I’m not the one giving him his morning oatmeal or patting his back during tummy time. It’s a constant, nagging, unmerciful guilt that screams BAD MOTHER! BAD MOTHER! BAD MOTHER! until I just want to cover my ears & let out a scream of my own.
I sit there at work, writing letters to clients & dreaming of Harrison, all while feeling pulled in 5,000 directions. The internal dialogue that constantly ticks a to-do list, birthdays, the evening schedule, the contract I’m working on at the office, the blog that is half-penned in a draft form, & what Nate said about somebody’s grandmother’s doctor visit back in…oh, where does she live again? Somehow, I am squeezing it all in but I don’t know how long that can last. We have about 4 hours at night between arrival (6pm) & bedtime (10pm) – & in those four hours, there is quality time with our family, cooking & eating dinner, bedtime routine, checking email, washing bottles, writing, working out, reading, sex, showers, laying everything out for tomorrow…& if we need a new can of formula or an ingredient for dinner? Add “Target run” to our already massive to-do list.
Wife. Mother. Employee. Friend. Daughter. Sister. Writer. Homemaker. Entrepreneur. How many shoes can I wear comfortably when I only have two feet?
