I'm not sure if many of you know this, and maybe this will knock your sox off, but I had a baby and then went back to work 9 weeks later!
Since this blog has taken a turn toward the Mommy Blog category, it does seem kind of unusual that I didn't post about my return to the land of the gainfully employed.
Do you know why?
Because it all went down without incident. That's why.
But someone asked for me to write about this to ease her anxiety about her upcoming return to work. And since she asked so nicely...
The expected thing to feel, I think, is misery upon return to work.
You are supposed to cry the entire drive, and run to the restroom periodically throughout the day to wipe your snot and reapply mascara.
You should call the daycare provider no less than four thousand times to check on your baybee.
Your drive home should be no slower than fifteen miles above the speed limit (because the speed limit is lame anyway and doesn't apply to new mommies returning to work).
I really wasn't miserable about returning to work. Was I excited? HELL NO! I was not excited at all. But the fact of the matter is this: We love my paycheck, and since I have to work to get said paycheck, then I need to go to work. There is no option in my mind. So it was kind of inevitable - like going back to school in the fall, or getting a urinary tract infection after drinking too much pop.
Don't get me wrong here. I am not one of those If I Won The Lottery I Would Still Be Doing This Same Job type of people.
Because you know what? If I won the lottery? I'd be on my big fat ass, in Hawaii, drinking something alcoholic out of a coconut and watching the baby play in the sand while a handsome muscular man fed me fresh grapes.
So. Anyway. I have to work and I don't feel bad about that. I don't aspire to stay at home, ever. Which tempts me to go off on a tangent about the way that people address each other regarding the work/stay at home choice. But that is way over done and so I will skip it.
(You are welcome.)
(But I can't promise that I won't write about Jon and Kate.)
(Seriously, Jon Gosselin. You are a douche.)
(And: Team Kate!)
On my first day back to work, I was lucky enough to have my lovely mommy come to my home and watch Olivia. So I suppose having her there made the transition much easier. I simply handed Olivia to her grandma and went merrily about the rest of my day.
The first time I took her to the sitter (we decided against the daycare center because of all of the reflux issues she was having), it was all very uneventful. The sitter picked her up, and Olivia smiled at her, and I left feeling pretty OK about the whole thing.
Work ZOOMED by. When I walked into the office, my first thought was, "OMFG, I have no idea what I am supposed to do." It took that entire first week to get back in the groove. But much like Stella, I did get my groove back, and fell into a comfortable routine with baby, sitter, work, baby, husband, zzzzzzzzzz. Rinse, repeat, until I've wished away my entire week for the weekend.
I don't really feel guilty for saying that it is nice to have my hour lunch break every day. It is nice to return emails and phone calls without feeling guilty about everything I would be putting off at home to do those things.
Do I miss Olivia? Well. Does a bear shit in the woods?
(Yes, a bear does shit in the woods. And yes, I do miss Olivia.)
I suppose I could sit here every day at beat myself up over all of the time that I miss with Olivia when I am at work. But I simply choose a different way of thinking. I think of all of the fun things that we can afford to do for and with Olivia because of my work. And the big fat college fund we will have for her some day. And the big fat retirement fund. And the awesome medical insurance. The ability to take vacations, and have girls day out, and whatever else we want to do.
Without worrying about money.
So, since you asked so nicely, I will tell you my opinion: it is only as bad as you make it.
**insert clever segue here**
Thank you for the sleep advice! Don't you fret - I plan a lengthy post of woe and heartache. And PHOTOS!
As soon as I load the 360 pictures on my camera onto the computer.
Olivia might be, like, 7 by then. But at least you will know what happened!