It's back to work one week from now. As the time approaches, more and more reminders of this inevitable fact pop up: papers I need filled out by my doc, making sure I have something that fits and looks professional, frozen breast milk in my freezer. The thought of leaving my child at the age of two months with someone else brings this overwhelming feeling of sadness, so I put the papers away, shut the freezer and don't check my email. I procrastinate as much as I can, but I can't keep up this act for much longer.
One would think that leaving children in care of others somehow gets easier with each consecutive child. While I will say that #1 was extremely emotionally draining, I cannot say that #3 is easier than #2. Maybe even harder on some level. I keep reminding myself how much I hate housework, the social isolation, the feeling of being couped up in the house, especially when it rains for days, like it has been for the past few days. But everything fades in comparison to the loss of ability to pick up my baby when I please, nurse her, look into her face and beg her to smile. Instead I will have to settle for phone updates, picture on my screen saver and frantically looking for an empty office to pump.
Hey, here's another confession. When I say I would go insane staying at home, I believe what I say at that particular moment. I have to. Because frankly I don't have a choice. But deep down inside I know that given an opportunity, I would embrace that insanity.