I’ve been a pretty lazy blogger over the past couple of weeks. That’s partly because we’ve been uber busy. And that’s partly because I’ve been in a kinda-sorta-funk. I’ve gone from trying to be Super Mom and Super Wife to being pretty unmotivated.
I’m blaming the weather change, mostly. It’s suddenly cold and grey and snowy in Chicago–all parts of winter that I readily and excitedly embrace–and it’s kicked me straight into hibernation mode. I don’t want to work. I don’t want to leave the house. I just want to cuddle up with my baby and a cup of tea and listen to holiday music.
But I also think that my funk can partly be attributed to the creeping, sneaky dread of having to go back to work full-time, leaving Finn in a yet-to-be-solidified childcare situation for four days a week.
My bemoaning going to back to work is more of a surprise to me than anyone. Don’t get me wrong: I love my son. Yet, I was the first to tell everyone how happy I’d be to return to work. How I wasn’t cut out to be a full-time mom. How I needed to have a life outside of the house and Finn and endless piles of diapers.
I was THAT PERSON–maybe a little self-righteously so–who swore she “couldn’t take” this stay at home mommy thing forever.
And I still don’t think I could do it. I need some kind of intellectual stimulation beyond being a momma. I need other creative and social outlets. When I’ve been with the students in my one-night-a-week class this semester, it has been a reprieve. When I’m in that room with them, I do feel like I can access an important part of myself that I can’t access when I’m at home, and I’ve really enjoyed the oasis that the classroom has always provided me.
But when that class is over–like the very second I step out of the classroom–I’m checked out. I’m back in momma mode, and it’s a miracle if I find a single second for the rest of the week when I am tuned back in to my professional responsibilities. And that’s just real talk.
So, I knew the transition back to work was going to be tough, come January, but I didn’t anticipate such an emotional hurdle. Last week, I chaperoned a group of students to an all-day writing conference. It was the longest I’ve been away from Finn in weeks.
The night before the conference, Sona was holding Finn, and I looked to their side of the couch to find that he was staring at me with this wide-eyed wander. He was looking at me like he was thinking, “That’s my Momma! And I love her SOOOO much!” It’s a look that slays me every. single.time.
I took him, gave him a big hug, and started to sob. I don’t even know why I was crying. Probably because I think he’s finally started to actively show excitement at my presence. Probably because I’m just a overly sentimental mush. But mostly, it was because I’m realizing that my days at home with him are numbered. It’s like I can see a grey cloud of doom slowly rolling in, and all of my interactions with Finn are now colored by its presence.
I know how melodramatic that sounds, trust me. But that’s also how melodramatic it feels. Trust me on that, too.
The worst part is that–like so many aspects of this parenting thing–I never saw it coming. I knew I’d be sad, sure, but I didn’t know I’d feel this.
Ultimately, I know it’s better for me, and for our family, and for Finn. I know I have a purpose outside of the house, too, and I know that my time with Finn has been sweetened by the fact that it’s temporary.
But I also get it, now. I get all of the FB posts from my mommy friends, lamenting their return to work. I’ll admit, I used to–kind of harshly–judge them. I used to secretly think, “Suck it up!”
Now, with the tables turned, I get it. I’ll be the blubbering mess, come January. And probably a lot of days leading up to then, too.