Skip to main content

Back to the guilt...I mean, grind

I went back to work today after 12 weeks of maternity leave. For weeks I've been nervous about leaving Jake, worried that he wouldn't take a bottle and would cry incessantly until Chris lost his mind. But I wasn't expecting the emotional sucker-punch from Hayden, who has almost five years of practice separating from his mom each morning. This morning may have been in the top five hardest for me yet. Here's how it went down:

Wake up at 5:15 to feed Jake (who, by the way, did exactly as I asked and slept straight through from midnight to 5:15. What a good boy.) Shower, make-up, hair, get dressed. Tiptoe through the bedroom and hallway to avoid all the creaky floorboards. Kiss Chris goodbye. Tuck Jake's binky back into his mouth. Peek my head into Hayden's bedroom door, thinking he's still in bed because it's practically before the dawn...but his eyes are open, and he's clutching his lovey bear. Uh oh.
Me: Bye, love, I have to go to work.

Hayden: Nooooo! Mommmeeeee! Dooonnnn't go! [Sits up and begins sobbing uncontrollably, Big crocodile tears, sucking air, snotty nose] Don't go to work, Mommy. I'm going to miss you soooo much!

Me: I know, sweetie. I'll miss you too. But I have to go to work. I don't really have a choice, love. Don't worry, I'll be back around dinner time so we can spend the whole evening together! [Forcing a big smile through the lump in my throat]

H: I want to go with you.

Me: You can't, sweetie. Grown-ups only. It's no fun there, anyway.

H: So why do you go there?

Me: Because that's how we get the money we need to pay for our house, and our food, and...and...and your toys! [Yeah, toys, he'll get that.]

H: Oh. Are you gonna bring me a toy?

Me: Not today.

H: You never give me toys. [sniffle sniffle] Please have breakfast with me.

Me: [Knowing that breakfast will just prolong the agony] No, buddy. I'm going to eat breakfast later. Why don't you come down and help me get my stuff together, and then wave to me from the door.

H: [Deciding that tears are no longer working, and he must go for the jugular] NO! DON'T GO! YOU NEVER SPEND ANY TIME WITH ME ANYMORE!
With that, knowing I wasn't going to win this battle, I hugged him, he clung to me down the stairs, and he sniffled me to the front door. I made him promise he'd go back to bed and snuggle with Daddy; I asked him to help Daddy with the baby because being the big brother is even more important when Mommy goes to work. I smiled bravely as I tromped out to the car. He sat on the front step crying and waving, hugging his arms to his body.

And once again, I drove away from my crying child -- and cried my own self down the highway to my office. It's not the first time, and certainly won't be the last. Just have to get back into working mom shape. Toughen up. Shake it off. Go, Mommy, go.

(You know what I can't wait for? TWO kids sobbing me off to work in the morning!)
Labels:

Comments

  1. paddyandhenrysmomJune 5, 2010 at 12:15 PM

    Oh, dear. Those kinds of mornings are like being repeatedly stabbed in the heart and yet having to carry on for a whole day when you wanna drop to the floor and wail. I'm sure not every morning will be that way, which is a small spark of hope. Most days Hayden will likely sleep in a lot later and miss your departure, which will help a whole ton. I bet he was OK not long after you left, and likewise I bet your guilt and sadness lasted all day. :( One day at a time, my friend.

    ReplyDelete
  2. Liz ScottAugust 11, 2010 at 6:23 PM

    boo! i'm so not looking forward to this in 5 weeks... :(

    ReplyDelete

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

A boy and his cat

Our backyard is a decent size and backs to woods. Every time a visitor steps onto our back deck, friend, family, and neighbor alike, we hear "What a yard! You need to get that kid a dog!" Apparently this is the natural progression here in Suburbia: house + yard + boy child + dog = happiness. Now, it's one thing to hear about our need of dog from friends or family who know us, but coming from neighbors and relative strangers it gets a bit old. My first response is always, Why do you think so? Which makes people hem and haw because they don't want to insult me by saying what's really on their minds: Because you're depriving that child of a human sibling , and he needs a friend . One problem: We're not dog people. I mean, we like other people's dogs, and I often think having a dog would be a major motivation to walk long distances regularly and get myself into shape. But a dog is like a toddler who will never grow up. They are needy, and they bark and poo...
3 comments
Read more

Ottomania!

I've been spending a lot of time thinking about ottomans. A ridiculous amount of time, actually, given the number of other things I truly should focus my thoughts on. I find, though, that when the world outside gets scary (and scary is a truly relative term these days) I turn to online shopping for things I don't really need. Actually, it's more like online browsing; I rarely purchase. I spend hours searching for, oh, erasable colored gel pens or standing desks or all-natural curly-hair gel or the perfect black sweater. (Yes, these are things I've fixated on over this winter; I still haven't clicked "buy" nor settled on any of them.) This week, it's ottomans. By the way, my girl  Brené  Brown would call this behavior numbing . I'm okay with that. Because online browsing is way less detrimental (so far) than chain smoking, which is what I'd really like to do when the world is scary. It's a way to escape, to daydream, to focus on things tha...
16 comments
Read more

Grown-up words and what to do about them

We know our children are little sponges who soak up all our words, actions, mannerisms. They are often parrots, but even more often they are fun house mirrors, amplifying and exaggerating our own idiosyncratic behaviors until we cringe, laugh, or hang our heads in shame. Yesterday while cleaning up his toys, Sweet Boy got frustrated trying to put one of his train pieces together. Instead of crying or raging like he would have a few weeks ago, he threw the toy down and yelled, "Oh, fuck it!" Oh. My. Lord. The air was sucked out of the room. We were suspended in time and space, frozen as our eyes met. I took a split second to consider my options: (1) Freak out and yell at him---scare him into never saying it again; (2) Ask him to repeat what he said, because maybe I heard it wrong and I don't want to overreact; (3) Ask where he heard that word, stuff his mouth full of soap, then call the offending child's parent immediately (a la The Christmas Story ); (4) Ignore it so ...
4 comments
Read more