Please read this post while humming Brooks and Dunn’s Hard Working Man in your head. My job is nothing like the job described in that song and I’m not a man, but I think it sets a nice mood for this post.
I had mixed thoughts leading up to Monday, July 2nd– my first day back to work. I was fortunate enough to enjoy 10.5 weeks home with my baby. Those weeks were blissful. Perfect. I wouldn’t trade them for anything.
The first few weeks were spent getting used to having a baby. I had cries to decode and breastfeeding to establish. I loved being home and could not imagine going back to work eventually- I even started brainstorming all sorts of ideas that would allow me to work at home, like a home-based daycare. By the time we were getting into the swing of things, it was time to pack for the move, and then unpack. These things kept me busy, but now that we’re relatively settled I have found myself getting bored. The baby is starting to coo a lot, but it’s not exactly stimulating conversation.
I’m sort of a busy body. I like to relax, but I find that I am more productive and happier when I have a lot to get done. When I have more time than I have things to do, I don’t prioritize things and then nothing gets done. But when I have a lot to do, I am forced to be intentional about things. I find I am more productive when I have less time. Not very logical, but that’s just how I work.
So leading up to July 2nd, I was happy in some ways. I was excited to get back into a routine and have a somewhat normal life again. I was looking forward to seeing my coworkers and stimulating my brain beyond baby coos. I had a new work assignment waiting for me that I was looking forward to. There was just one problem. I had only been away from the baby for 4.5 hours at that point, and I missed him like crazy that time. I could not imagine being away from him all day long. And my first day back was going to be a full day- I was going to be away for nearly 10 hours. I wasn’t really sure how that would go.
We dropped him off at daycare in a good mood. I cried. It was the first time I felt like my little son was growing up, the first time he would experience a new adventure without me. But you know what? I was okay. I thought about him all day, but not in a this-is-so-awful-I-want-to-quit-and-never-work-again sort of way. And he was okay too. The daycare provider texted us pictures all day, and I was picking him up before I knew it. We both survived, and he was so smothered with attention that night he was probably glad when it was time for bed.
Now that I’m a working mom, I’m more tuned into the tensions that can arise between working moms and stay at home moms- but I’ll save that for another post. For now, know that I am back to life, back to reality, and all is good.
Please close out this post while humming Soul II Soul’s Back to Life in your head. I don’t even know what this song is about, but that one line is fitting.