Tomorrow, after thirteen long (and yet incredibly short) weeks, I’ve got to go back to work. There have been a lot of changes while I’ve been gone, so it kinda feels like the first day of school.
You remember. You’re excited to see all your friends, but a little bit nervous about what the new year will bring. You hope it’ll be fun, but you know there’s a lot of hard work ahead of you. And, of course, you’re sad to see the summer (or in my case, my maternity leave) end.
I’m glad I have a job I actually enjoy. I can’t imagine how much more it would suck to leave my baby if I was looking forward to nothing but joyless toil. As it is, I’m not exactly excited about the idea of being away from her for eight, nine, maybe even twelve hours a day (at least, not today. she’s been good today).
But I don’t want to live in a box (it’d be awfully crowded. and damp. and cold.), so it’s back to work I go.
Thankfully, my hubby will be taking my place here at home for the next month or so. Which means I don’t have to deal with the double whammy of heading back to the office and dropping her off at daycare all at once.
It’s good to do things in stages.
He insists he’ll be a much better stay at home dad than I was a stay at home mom. He says the house will sparkle, meals will be served on time, and the baby will be happier than ever before.
He even thinks he’ll have time to finish some household projects while he’s off.
I wish him luck with that.
Now if you guys could wish me some of the same, I’d appreciate it. I’m afraid tomorrow’s going to be a pretty rough day.