His daycare forms are filled out. Approximately 9,000 boxes of unscented wipes have been purchased at Costco as instructed. My freshly dry cleaned work clothes are hanging in my closet.
I tell people I’m ready.
I tell people that we chose the best daycare in town. That it’s right down the block from my office. I can pop over at lunch to nurse Little B. I tell people that I’m looking forward to getting back into the swing of things at the office. That I’ve never been the type to give up my career and stay home to raise a child.
But the truth is I’m dreading it. I love my days with Little B. He’s such a delicious little baby and I spend my days luxuriating in his coos and smiles. We’ve got our own little routine, and I’m incredibly jealous that he will soon be developing a routine with someone else. And I feel so guilty. He’s just a baby. He’s supposed to be being nursed and nurtured by his Mama, and instead he’ll be getting pumped milk from a bottle and getting his teacher’s attention when she’s not attending to the other 4 babies for whom she’s responsible.
I’ve been told that every working mom in the history of the world has experienced these emotions. I’ve been told that it’s normal to feel this way. That it’ll get easier. That he’ll be fine. And I know he will. It’s me I’m worried about.
While Hubs and I have discussed me not returning to work, in reality we’re far too accustomed to our two-income lifestyle to give up my salary. I know how awful that must sound, but hear me out. I feel that it would be selfish for me to make a decision that would take my family from very solid financial ground to somewhat shaky territory. It’s not fair for me to burden Hubs with that. On a slightly less honorable note, I have a pretty decent shopping addiction that would be borderline impossible to give up. (Hey. Don’t judge. You KNOW they make such cute baby clothes these days!)
And so, on Monday, I go back to work. I rejoin the world of working adults, and try to remember what it is I do for a living. Wish me luck.