I wrote this on 1/26/07. I didn’t realize I’d not published it. Weird.
When our last child was born, I spent several hours crying my eyes out over having to leave him with someone else every day for eight hours. I don’t think one day of my maternity leave passed without reminding my husband I wanted to stay home with this baby. Our last baby, the one who felt so tentative in the first months of pregnancy when I felt we were connected by one thin, spotting thread. I said very dramatic and ridiculous things to try to convince him that quitting my job was The Thing to do. And none of them worked. In the end, my fear of what would happen if we did lose my income won.
I cried every time I had to leave him during those first weeks back. I was a sobbing mess behind the wheel on my way to work each morning. For over a year, I ate lunch in my car on my way to nurse him at noon and toted a breast pump between work and home. It was a ton of work. I complained about it loudly and often, but looking back, I can’t believe that I did it and I can’t believe it’s over.
One week after his fourth birthday, I will finally be home with him during the day. I’ll be home to make his lunch and take him to story time. We’ll go for walks and play together. He’ll get on my nerves and I’ll wonder why I ever thought this was a good idea.
Probably.
But I’ll know what it’s like on the other side. I’ll find out which shade of green I like better. I might find out I’m not really as excited to be with my kid as I am to spend more time with my couch. I might decide I dislike being home during those crazy after school hours. Maybe we’ll be insanely broke and have to live with my mother in law. Or, maybe it’ll work. I can’t predict any of that. I just know that being home is what I want right now. It is scary. If I’m made this bold a move before, I can’t recall.
