Thus ends my first week back at work. It's been hectic, it's been fun, it's been a learning experience. I've been fortunate enough that, for the first year of Alex's life, I was either home with him during the day before going to work, or home with him in general. But all good things must come to an end (especially when you have student loans and also want to buy your Boy all the books in the Target's childrens' book aisle) and I went back to work (albeit at a new job, with normal hours and an actual supportive environment).
Monday was rough. Every day is rough, really. I want to be with my little Boy, caring for him and playing with him. Originally we had arranged that my Husband would drop off the Boy and I would pick him up, but logisitics led us to change that. Monday went fine, as Husband took a half day from work and picked up our Boy around 1:00 pm. I worried about our Boy until I knew he was back at home, but his day went well and he had fun playing. The rest of the week was not so good. Our Boy periodically remembers that he misses us, and cries.
I know it was only the first week, and there will be adjustment issues for all involved. But the thought of my Boy wanting me or his Daddy, and us not being there, is enough to shatter my heart into tiny pieces. I always want to be there for him, and I know I can't. Somewhere deep down in my rational mind, I know this is good for him. He will learn and grow and have fun. I also did enjoy being out of the house, learning new things and meeting new people- having conversations that don't include poop or Cheerios! I can't even begin to describe how horribly guilty I feel for actually liking my new job, but I know very well that all the working Mommies out there probably feel the same way.
It does help that our sitter only watches our Boy, in addition to her own two-year-old. She has lots of age-appropriate toys, as well as a small dog and a cat, which the Boy adores. She is a nice person who I can tell takes good care of our guy. But she isn't us. And we're not there.
The time in between when I get home from work and when the Boy goes to bed is so small. Too brief. I feel cheated. I'm no longer the one giving him his lunch, putting him down from his naps, and giving him his bottles- at least on weekdays. I hate it. Hate it, hate it, hate it. And yet I like the job. People tell me it gets better- but does it?