This morning found me getting ready for work for the first time in twelve days. Twelve days might not sound like much, but it was just long enough. Just long enough to get a solid routine going with Tori. Just long enough to start to feel like a real mom again—not just a part-timer.
Just long enough to get used to not working.
So when the alarm went off this morning, I awoke with a heavy heart. For the last twelve days, it had been Tori’s voice that woke me up. Granted, it was usually far too early, but her little bababa’s are always a more pleasant sound than that annoying buzz (side note: someone should invent an alarm that you have to throw against the wall to shut off. It’s what I always feel like doing to mine).
This morning, she decided to sleep in (her timing is wonderful). So I had to wake her up. Had to try and shove oatmeal down her throat while she was still rubbing her eyes. Had to bundle her in her coat and strap her into her car seat when she was just getting ready to play (and that makes for one unhappy Tori).
It kinda sucked. Okay, it really sucked. So much so that halfway to the babysitter’s house (with a still screaming Tori in the back seat), I almost turned around and went home.
But people were depending on me to show up at the office, so I resisted the urge (that good old Midwestern work ethic, you know). Instead, I dutifully trudged to my desk, fired up the computer and logged on to twitter (ahem, after I checked my work email, of course).
And twitter? Was full of tweets from people celebrating kids going back to school and bemoaning spouses going back to work. Tweets about missed naps and temper tantrums and teething kids. Tweets from fed up moms who would probably have loved to switch places with me for a little while.
But I couldn’t help but be jealous of them. Couldn’t help but wish I was still at home, tapping my keyboard while Tori tried to bash the space bar in. Would have given anything to be looking at another day full of nothing special.
Does anybody have a rich (and frail) relative I could adopt? Or a winning lottery ticket they’re not using? Because I’d really love to turn my high heels in for a pair of worn out sneakers.
No? Darn. Guess I’ll just have to start planning that next vacation, then.