Yesterday – Tuesday, 2 January 2018 – was my first day back at work. After thirteen months away. It was both difficult and easy; sad and happy; challenging and liberating. To say I had mixed emotions is an understatement.
As the day drew nearer, I began to get very nervous about an array of things. Mostly, the thought of leaving my little man for entire days at a time (even though he’s being minded by his grandparents, rather than going to daycare); but, also, returning to a much-changed work environment, as well as wondering how I’d manage to fit everything I have to do into even less time. The list goes on, and you can read the rest in my post 10 reasons why I’m nervous about returning to work.
That morning, I woke a few minutes before my 5:45am alarm. I’d gone to bed as early as humanly possible (11pm, after getting as much ready as I could, to avoid rushing around in the morning), and we’d both fallen asleep again after J’s 1am comfort (boob) feed (for teething). I snoozed the alarm a couple of times, then breastfed him properly. He soon fell asleep again; I put him back in his cot, and started to get ready. I’d washed my hair the night before, so I showered and styled it with my “drying and straightening brush”, and put on a new dress.
I’m lucky enough to live in a beautiful, semi-rural area, and I love it here. There’s the convenience of nearby amenities (you know, train station, shopping centre, cafés), blended with the picturesque feel of country living. We can go for lovely walks and drives, which my little man really enjoys, and there’s so much to see.
This evening, we popped over to the shops to pick up some snacks – the breastfeeding mother’s life(hunger)saver – and J started making sleep noises. He often falls asleep while we’re driving, so I took a roundabout way home, in an attempt to arrive at the house with a sleeping baby. Alas, it was not to be this time, but that’s not what this post is about …