2002-04-17
I started back at work a week and a half ago and it's going pretty well. Of course, my returning to work means that Clay has started daycare. That's the important thing, for if that were going poorly, I'd probably be a wreck. But it's going fabulously.
I feel so lucky to have found this place. This woman, really. She is just very warm, in a tough and no-nonsense way, and knows babies. And she loves Clay. Maybe she says this to all parents, but I really don't think so. They are all just in love with our baby--going on about how sweet he is, how smart. They call him Genius Baby. The thing is, he hardly ever cries. He's so alert and curious and babbles and coos. She and her employees and the other children are all thrilled when Clay arrives each morning. Today B took him and all the children were sitting around a table and when they saw Clay they clapped and said, "Yay! The baby's here!" How sweet is that?
And unlike most breastfed babies she's cared for, he'll take bottles of expressed milk from anyone anytime. He just slurps them down. Which is great news except for the fact that I have to produce all this milk. I've been keeping up so far, and I'm optimistic that I'll be able to continue doing so, but he's taking twice what many babies his age take (24 ounces over an eight hour period).
I freaked out a little when I realized how much he'd need. I dreamt that I found B mixing a bottle of formula. I sobbed in protest but he insisted that we not starve the baby. Then a friend who in real life has just had a recurrence of breast cancer showed up and asked what was wrong and I got a bit of perspective. Formula is not, heaven knows, the end of the world.
I wonder if--aside from the considerable health benefits--expressing milk for the baby isn't a way to compensate a bit for not being home with him during the day. It is a bit odd, having strangers take care of him for most of his waking hours five days a week. Does that sound oddly detached? Or oddly obvious? I don't know. In a way, I've thought a lot about this going back to work business but in a way I've avoided thinking about it too much.
It hasn't felt particularly like a choice--for one thing, I am our family's source of health insurance--though certainly we could choose to live differently, on less than two full-time incomes. It has been pretty much a given all along that I'd keep working; I guess that's why I haven't questioned it too much.
The truth is that it's been kind of good getting back to work. This surprises me for a number of reasons, but it has. Then again, I've only been working half days; next week, when I start full-time, will be the real test. It's been great being able to ease back in this way. To get reacquainted with work, to ease Clay into daycare, to establish some routines. Actually, working half days, or six-hour days rather than eight-hour days, would probably be ideal, but I don't see that happening.
It has been a bit of a relief to have long breaks from the baby. It feels a little bit heretical to say that but it's true. I really didn't know whether that would be the case for me or not; you hear these stories of "career women" who stay home for a few months then can't bear to return to work and quit everything. You hear lots of those. I never thought of myself caring particularly about my career, and I still don't think I do, but I do get satisfaction from it, my brain gets a workout. I really did miss that.
Had I not been returning to work, now is the time I would've had to find myself some projects. Knowing that my days at home were numbered, I was able to hang out and enjoy the time, but I was starting to get squirmy.
My pregnancy group got together last weekend, with our babies. I'm the only one of the gang who is not staying home with her kid(s) and it felt very alienating. I don't know whether it was my imagination or projection or if they really were judging me but it was uncomfortable for me.
Also, I'm making more traditional parenting choices than most of them. They tend to embrace the family bed-attachment parenting approach. I'm sort of into detachment parenting. I'm joking about the term, but I need my space. Maybe it's all those decades of solitude, but it's now an integral part of who I am. I do not want my baby in my bed when I'm trying to sleep. Hell, I don't particularly want my husband in my bed when I'm trying to sleep but I've learned to live with it. Clay seems to have inherited the need for space, or can at least tolerate it, for he sleeps beautifully on his own. (In his own crib in his own room. Do you think I'm cruel to subject him to that?)
The need for space, for solitude, is probably behind my pleasure at returning to work. Aside from meetings, I am alone in my office all day and I have to say, it's delightful.
I was talking to an old friend, speculating that once Clay gets older I can imagine B taking him out on weekends, going to Home Depot to get supplies for projects, going canoeing and kayaking, working on cars, and all kinds of other father-son activities. I was telling her how great I imagine that will be--that I'll get to stay home alone and read!
She pointed out that before any of this marriage and children business started I could--and did--stay home and read pretty much all the time. Yes, of course, but this, if it happens, will be different. Being alone, knowing that those who love me are elsewhere and I'll be seeing them soon--I think that's kind of my ideal.
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