It's helped me out mentally to have a maternity leave that mimics a school summer vacation. Just as I did for almost 20 years of my life, I eagerly anticipated May (in this case, not the end of school, but the end of work) and have dreaded August. Every day of the last three months has been a countdown, one day closer to the return to work.
I didn't go through this with Britton. When I had Britton, I wasn't employed, and I didn't go back to working until she was five months old. It was hard then, so hard that I vividly remember spending my entire first day staring at my iPhone, watching the video stream from her daycare room. When my phone battery died by lunch time, I spent my lunch hour charging it back up and logging on as fast as I could. I cried all day, and every day after for at least a week. I was certain that anything I was getting from my job (money, autonomy, identity other than "mother" and "wife") was not worth the trade off of irreversible damage I was doing by abandoning my daughter in a center where no one would take care of her to the degree that I would. That same internal fight has waged itself within me ever since.
It doesn't help that this maternity leave has been much easier than Britton's. I'm more comfortable, more confident, and I don't feel like I'm drowning on a daily basis. When I was home with Britton I called the hubs regularly to beg him to come home from work early. I cried some mornings asking him to stay home with me so I wouldn't be the only one Britton needed that day. I stared at the clock, willing the hours to hurry up. Not two months into it, my post-partum depression and anxiety diagnosis didn't come as a shock to anyone that knew how hard the previous two months had been for me. But now, just over two months in Barrett's life, there's no post-partum depression, no anxiety, and no overwhelming paralyzing need to break away from my home just so I can breathe.
Britton's teacher reported to me today that Britton was in a bad mood today, refusing to each lunch and being highly sensitive with easily hurt feelings. Once I got her into the car I asked her what she was feeling and why her teacher would describe her like that. "I missed you today, Mommy" was her answer. I kept Britton in daycare while on maternity leave for two reasons: I wanted her to stay in her routine, knowing that I'd only be out of work for 12 weeks, and also I didn't want her to be at the mercy of a newborn. For the first 6-8 weeks, my days were filled with the need to respond to every whim of Barrett. Some days he would eat every hour, some days he refused to nap more than 30 minutes. I didn't want to stick Britton in front of the television for hours on end while I tended to the needs of her brother.
August 5th. That's my first day back. I purposefully chose the Monday after Britton's birthday so I could spend the week before her party getting ready and cleaning the house and donating work clothes that will never fit and finally getting around to all the little errands and chores that I put off because Barrett needed to nap or Britton wanted to go on a walk. August 5th we, my family, start all over again. There will be another new morning routine, a new daycare room, new teachers, new day. I will miss being home with my baby all day, but I will also miss the hugely-therapeutic "me" time I've had over the last 10 weeks. During Barrett's naps, I've quilted and sewed, talked to my sister and mom on the phone, updated family photo albums, finished editing home videos, read books, seen movies, even taken a nap or two. It's been selfish time and I needed it and I admit that I will miss it.
Next week is my final week of non-work. I know myself. I will drag my feet. I will put off thinking about it. I will pretend that August 5th isn't a week away. And then, come August 5th, I will take my babies to daycare, get back in the car, head towards work, and cry my eyes out.
No comments:
Post a Comment