When I left on maternity leave to have Alex, I had little doubt in my mind that I would come back to work full time. Sure, I wondered how I would feel about leaving my son, but I knew, deep down, I'm a worker. I have been consistently employed (part time or otherwise) without a break for thirteen years. I lied to my first employer, Chuck-a-Rama where I worked as the "salad girl", by telling them I was 16 (I was 15) in order to get the job. I would continue lying to subsequent employers about my age until I turned 21 and was working for a small software company.
I loved working. I loved the freedom and independence getting a regular pay check every month gave me. I loved being able to develop parts of my personality that I don't have in my home life. At work I'm much more confident and agressive. I'm able to make big decisions on the fly and I like the feeling of being percieved as stong, smart and capable. At home, I'm more wishy washy. I'm a softy. I'm much more likely to go with the crowd, not make waves, and be more emotional.
I enjoyed every single second of my maternity leave. Being home with my son was amazing, and I loved having the opportunity, but as my three months ended, I got antsy. I was ready to go back to work. I wanted to feel like I did something productive during the day. I wanted to accomplish something other than feeding and changing a crying baby. I wanted to feel like I was doing something right. Work is easy. I could do my job with my eyes closed and my hands tied behind my back. Going back to work seemed like a cakewalk compared to being a full time mother. Being at home, I was terrified all the time. What if I'm not feeding him enough? What if he's not getting enough mental stimulation? What if I'm not a good enough mother? When comparing raising a child to writing technical documents and test plans. Work seemed like a break.
And then there's the financial issue. I make a good living at my job. My boss is understanding, having five kids of his own, he's very good about letting me go home if there's an emergency or a doctor's appointment. Having a good job, with flexible hours and a great paycheck... how can one say no to that? Espcially when one has a mortgage and living expenses. Not to mention saving for retirement and The Boy's college.
So work won. And for the fist few months, it really wasn't too hard. I'd miss Alex, sure. But I'd go home and he'd be the same baby I'd left in the morning. But now, now he's changing. I'd drop off my little belly scooting baby at 7:30 and pick up a hands and knees crawler at 5:00. I'll call on my lunch hour to find that he's pulling himself up to standing. On any given week day I spend four hours with my son. FOUR! One hour in the morning before I drop him off for the day and three hours at night before he goes to bed. I'm a part-time parent. This is unacceptable. But I don't know what to do about it.
I feel like I'm dying a little bit every day when I drop Alex off at my mother's and I watch him as she takes him inside. That sounds dramatic, but that's exactly how it feels. I often cry on my way to the freeway every morning, usually by the time I get to the interchange I've calmed down. I'm not raising my own son. And though I know without a doubt that my mother is doing an excellent job, it doesn't negate the fact that that job should be mine. I try to make up for my absence on the weekends by scheduling the crap out of Alex's days. We go to My Gym for a Mommy & Me class. We go on walks at the park. We go swimming. We go to the store and buy pinwheels and stuffed monkeys and play for hours together on the floor in the family room. Usually we'll take afternoon naps together because I can't bear to not have him near me.
Maybe once Alex becomes a bratty toddler leaving for 10 hours a day won't be so painful for me. Who knows. But now, I miss him. I really, really miss him.
No comments:
Post a Comment