But we don’t call it that. Day care. We call it “school.” Don’t laugh. It makes me feel better. School is educational. It’s good for his development. Right?
As ya’ll know, I was dreading this. Just sick over it. And you know what? It’s okay. I’m okay. Little B is okay. Hubs is okay, wherever he is. (I can’t keep track of his business trips anymore! I think he’s in San Fran this time.)
I am definitely not the girl that was excited to go back to work. Ready for the adult interaction. Restless. Anxious. Not me. I was 100% content to stay at home and stare at my sweet baby boy. But, now that I’ve taken that step, I must admit it was nice to get back into the “real world”.
Before I go on, I should mention there was one thing I was looking forward to about going back to work.
Hubs, who works for the same company as I do, came home a few weeks ago and casually mentioned that they got new coffee machines. The kind that brew one cup of delicious hot coffee at a time. Ugly Mug – my favorite local, fair-trade, organic coffee company! And they have Southern Pecan, my favorite flavor! In hindsight, I believe this was a well-disguised attempt to lure me back to the office and distract me from my stay-at-home mommy dreams. It worked.
Anyways, about my first day. I got up. I showered. I actually blow-dried my hair. I put on work clothes that I hadn’t worn in a year. I sincerely thanked the good Lord for letting me fit into said work clothes. After the insanity of nursing, pumping, diapering, clothing, and generally caring for my sweet firstborn, I eventually made it to the office. I got my aforementioned coffee, sat down at my desk, booted up my trusty old work computer and attempted to sort through 16 weeks worth of unanswered emails. I say “attempted” because it literally took my laptop 5 hours to sync. Though I am prone to exaggeration, this is not one. I thought my little computer was going to bring down the entire network.
So, in reality, I spent my entire first day waiting for my computer to unfreeze, cleaning my desk, arranging photos in my cubicle and walking back and forth to the discreetly labeled “mother’s room” to pump 9 thousand times. And I watched the clock. As soon as it was reasonably close to 5:00 pm, my butt was out of there. Work is nice and all - but nothing compares to being at home with my Little B.