Shhhh…I should be working right now. My inbox is full, my to do list is long. Yet, for atleast 1.5 hours a day, I shut my office door, close my blinds, and enjoy some good old fashioned “me time”. Part of me feels guilty. Part of me feels stressed and like I should be using my time more wisely. But then there are moments like this one when I think to myself “Self, You do A LOT.” and I cut myself some slack. After all, I am technically working when the office door closes–I’m working on physically producing and extracting food that another human being depends on for survival. Plus, I’m up earlier than everyone else in my house, I get everything organized to make sure we can all get out the door at a reasonable time each morning, I am “on” at work all. the. time., and I race home to an evening routine that involves no alone time for me what-so-ever. I’m at the office or I’m at home and unless I’m enjoying the 3 hour stretch of sleep my no-longer-sleeping-through-the-night baby boy offers me each night, I don’t exactly get to relax like I did in my old life.
All that to say that being back at work has certainly added a new layer of…um…excitement? Stress? Exhaustion? Yes. Yes. A thousand times yes.
I used to feel like I knew things. I felt confident, and I felt like my life had just the right balance of predictability. Most days lately, I feel like I know very little about anything and the only thing predictable about my life is that I can count on not being able to predict anything.
Wowsas, do I know how to paint a bleak picture or what? Someone pass the Zoloft.
It is a learning curve more than anything. I’m constantly adjusting and getting used to this situation because it’s constantly new. Nothing stays the same for more than a few days (weeks if we are lucky). There have been nursing strikes, sleeping strikes, pumping issues, and the never-ending cold that has plagued all three of us. But, if I’m being completely honest (and if I can’t be completely honest on my own blog, what’s the point?), I’m 100% totally and utterly in love. Getting up at 1 a.m. to nurse a hungry baby who doesn’t want to latch because his nose is too stuffy (there’s only so much one of those bulb syringes can do) and ends up screaming in your face while you stare at him with the bleary-eyed haze of someone who knows all too well that this night may end up being the longest night of their lives isn’t my my idea of paradise. But I tolerate it because I love him…and because I know this part is temporary. My spirits lift and my heart breaks because it is all so temporary.