Going Back to Work

Well, it's been an amazing four months.  Four months home with my sweet baby boy.  It has been a high point in my life to see him grow and watch him change.  To see him recognize me and his dad, to hear his babbles and love his enjoyment over the simplest things is amazing.

I'll be completely honest here.  I wasn't sure being a parent would be a good step for me.  I am not patient by any stretch of the imagination.  I like my sleep.  Seriously, someone had better be on fire if you're waking me up.  I'm immature and messy, not to mention selfish.  All qualities that could really conflict with raising a human.  I had hesitations, worries, lists, projects, safeguards, nights of complete terror.  And then he arrived.

And I was instantly head over heels in love.  Yes, it was hard.  Yes, it will be hard.  Yes, we are only four months in.  Yes, I am tired.  Yes, there are parts I love more than others.  But, and it's something that can only be understood by another parent, I can't believe how much I love this little person.

So much of the way I feel can't be expressed.  There are just no words for how much love, compassion, patience, willingness to get up in the night, wanting to stay home and hunker, and joy this whole parenthood thing brings me.  It just fits.  It feels like "why haven't we always felt this way?"  It's a big puzzle and, just when we think we have him figured out, he changes again and we start all over.

I'm in love with the whole idea and application of being a parent.  I feel pity for those parents we talk to who are constantly warning us "Just wait, it's gonna start to suck" or "Wait until the second one, you'll just put them in a corner as long as they're not crying." just give us the look of "Kids, huh?"  We wanted this and planned for him and prayed when a sane person would have just given up.  I pity those parents but take nothing but gratitude for my life from their comments.

All of this happiness, gratefulness, joy and contentment makes it that much harder to move to the next chapter in my life.  Going back to work.  Something so seemingly effortless and the obvious next step and so tear-inducing at the same time.

I thought I would be springing at the chance to go back.  I thought I would be doing cartwheels to be in the office.  But now, the night before, even with all my planning and preparation - which included easing Felix into the routine of going to his grandparents house every day, increasing the hours little by little - I find myself crying on Ben's shoulder, whispering, "I don't want to go."

Felix will be away from me for so many hours a day.  Yes, he will be in the very capable hands of his grandparents, but they are not my hands.  He will be smiling at their kind faces, but it's not my face.  He will learn from them, but they are not me.

I bet most moms go through this feeling.  The tides are suddenly in motion again.  Your uninterrupted time with your infant, with your tiny family unit, is over.  The outside world is waiting.  It all feels so huge, so hard.  All my work seems so trivial compared with hoping my son will roll over or cut a tooth.  Even as I type it I can see how insane and ridiculous that sounds.  But these are the feelings tonight on the eve of going back to work.