Leave

This is everything that was easy and difficult about going back to work. Easy=cry at someone else. Hard=holy cuteness.

I wrote this almost a month ago, and then I thought "wait. wait and see if it's still true." It is. 

Dear Ian,

Tomorrow I will go back to work. You will spend the day with some nice ladies and a handful of rambunctious children at a clean house across town with lots of toys, and I will go downtown to sift through emails and chat with coworkers and wrestle with a breast pump, and we will be ok. I know we will. It just might not feel that way at first.

Bringing home a tiny baby was a great leap of faith, rewarded by casseroles and visitors and snuggle naps. Then it became a slow march of feeding and spit on our jammies and crying jags and rashes and worry, all while falling entirely head over heels in love with you. Your grins. And your coos. And your frowns. (Those eyebrows are really coming in.) You're also making this funny curly effort to lean forward and reach your toes. You will get there.

Patience has never been a strength for me, but it's a muscle you've helped me bulk up in 12 weeks. How many times I've bounced you to sleep only for you to pop back awake the moment I set you down. Or that you've screamed into my left ear and I have snuggled you more fiercely, or firmly set you down and walked away because you were a screamy mess and I was afraid that I had reached the ledge.

The truth is that I could not stay home with you full time right now, even if that was an option. (It is not). I have been working too long, and I enjoy it. I think being at work is going to make me feel guilty at first, because I will like being there. That's ok. We are Catholic and familiar with guilt, and I will get over it. For now, I hope being away from you a few days a week is going to boost my desire to give you everything I have when I'm home. I want to do that now, but I will want it even more, I think.

Because I love being with you. But I love other parts of my life too, and I'm ready to get some of them back.

We had a few rooms in our house painted before you were born, and we still haven't hung up our posters again. It's just one of the many things that didn't happen in 12 weeks. I had this idea that maternity leave would give me room to think and be creative and accomplish things around the house. And yes, I've had a little time to write (like I can on my phone when you're sleeping on me, like right now), but those house projects just don't matter as much any more. They can wait.

The things that mattered happened. As many of my friends who are parents say, only half kidding, we've kept you alive.

Also, your dad has made this maternity leave possible more than he can ever know. I am so anxious. Every decision has to be weighed and debated with me. Your dad just gets things done. Seven loads of laundry. Bouncing you on the exercise ball while you scream. Changing you out of another outfit soaked in baby vomit. He loves you deeply, even if sometimes he's not sure this whole infant phase is all that great. That's ok. He has some trains and toys waiting eagerly for you to start playing more, and I hear your father/son chats on the changing table. You're going to be buds. Please stop screaming at him so much.

Love you lots,
Mama