Being back at work is starting to kick my ass a little. I'm finding less patience with the boo (a.k.a. F) when he wants to run around in the morning, instead of PUTTING ON HIS DAMNED PANTS. I can't really blame him - he's a skinny little bugger (has always been on the very low end of the percentile range for normal weight) and they all fall off him, making walking even more difficult (as if it needed to be.) But it does make getting out the door on time a little stressful. I do feel awesome guilt when I scold him or use a harsh tone with him for flipping over YET AGAIN instead of lying still though, so that's ok, right?
The weeks have been going by in something of a blur. I can't quite believe this is my life now, for the next 70million years: wake up (too early), get self and F dressed and fed while attempting to smile at least twice and not to yell the WHOLE time, rush to daycare then work ignoring pouting and whinging from boo at being left YET AGAIN (“you bitch” [you know I'm right - it's what he's thinking]), work all day, rush to daycare and then home for dinner (which is hopefully planned for and leftover-related because my energy is not stretching to prepping a whole new meal at this point in the day), eat - sometimes with a friend who comes over since I can no longer leave the house except to work (sob), wash boo, read him a few stories (thankfully he likes to zoom through books - no analysis of why the phone is a rotary and the bowl full of mush is left out all night is necessary, as far as he is concerned), nurse and sing him to sleep, then tidy up dinner dishes, make lunch for work tomorrow, tidy up living spaces, spend 15 minutes trying to read 3 hrs worth of blogposts, facebook updates, and tweets, eat some horridly fattening snack and feel great shame, shower if I can't bear the idea of sharing one with boo in the morning, then collapse into bed. Lather rinse repeat. Ad nauseum.
That just sucks. Even writing it sucks. Reading it probably really sucks because that was the run-on sentence to end all run-on sentences.
And yet - while I miss having free time to spend with friends OUT of the house, and I lament the loss of lazy slow mornings with F (we're both early risers - him earlier than I, of course, but morning is really our time to shine), it's not so bad, really. Maybe it's the breastfeeding hormones still affecting my brain, or maybe it's just getting to sneak into daycare at the end of the day and watch my brilliant son walk around talking and checking stuff out for a minute before he notices me, but as much as I am horrified at this new reality, I am also strangely very much okay with it. Would I prefer to be home with F? Kinda (but not always – especially as he grows more autonomous [read: challenging]). Am I exhausted? Definitely (but probably no less tired than someone who has a partner ‘helping out’ – more to come on that in the next little while). But reality is what it is, and since my nature is to be relatively optimistic (while concurrently dreading and planning for disaster), I’ve decided that this one is pretty damned good.
My son is happy and healthy. I am happy and relatively healthy. And we squeezed in an impromptu trip to the park yesterday after work, where they had just combed the sand, making it super soft and highly interesting to walk on. What more could you want, really?