The (tired) backstory

Motherhood is just so damn draining. And I went to WORK today. J was doing the harder part—putting in his time in the trenches, home with the kiddoes. Well, two of them. Which is what I was going to write about in the first place. The fact that I have brought all three of my babies to work with me during the first few months of their lives. And now, baby number three is just about finished up with her early office months, and I will once again be separating my working (out of the home) self from my mommy self. And I have very mixed feelings about this. Like, I am looking forward to actually EXERCISING during lunch. Well, maybe. I guess I should take into account the fact that I will also have to PUMP three times each day, so maybe I actually won’t get to take a lunch. Damn. I also won’t be worrying about the noise level coming from my office, which apparently has been bothering someone in the building, because I had a complaint filed against me with HUMAN RESOURCES. I am in no state of mind to get into the details of this yet. I also won’t be able to see Em’s sweet face every minute of every day. And when I look in my rearview mirror on the long drive to and from work on those three days that I go in, I won’t see her little round head turned to the side, nestled into her car seat and reflected back at me. And I won’t be able to have a hug any time I damn well might want one.

I survived leaving the other two at home after their tenure doing the 9-4 gig. And I remember feeling, with B, my first, that I wasn’t going to make it. That leaving him at home would be emotionally impossible for me. It wasn’t, of course. We all made it. But that feeling of leaving my child. It just took over every part of me. And now, on the eve of B’s FIFTH birthday, I can’t believe he was such a tiny, tiny baby. That I ever had the courage to leave him in someone else’s care. And I can’t believe how much he believes in me. That I, the mother, somehow know what I am doing all of the time. Even when I know I am doing the wrong thing, he doesn’t doubt it. This child of mine, who started out his life away from home napping under my desk now goes to school, has his own “gang” of friends and sometimes even plays on his own. I am proud of him. And utterly in awe of him. And I know I will get there with Em, too. But I do wish she could stay at work with me a little longer. Need ME for everything every moment of the day (and night). It doesn’t make any sense, I am aware, that in one breath I am telling my oldest child that he doesn’t need my help (putting on his shoes, finding his juice cup, straightening out the covers on his bed) and in another I am looking at Em and fervently hoping that she doesn’t start crawling away from me just yet. I want to just watch her sleep for a while, knowing that only moments after I give in and turn out the light she will push up off of her tummy and start nursing the air before she can even squirm her way over here. But at least I made it this far. A somewhat coherent stream-of-fatigued-consciousness brain dump that maybe will allow me to sleep. Oh, sleep. How I miss you.