I dropped off Owen at daycare this morning and he was so sad to see me leave. That's difficult.... then add to that DH calling to make sure he was doing alright and hearing that he had parked himself in a stroller and would not budge for the ENTIRE DAY! My son is nothing if he's not stubborn. Thankfully DH was able to pick him up early and take him home.... sigh.... I wish it were me.
I'm so conflicted about returning to work. On the one hand I enjoy the first hour or so in the morning when I can sit and actually drink my entire coffee and check my facebook (it's been thankfully quiet upon my return to work) and most importantly... use the washroom without hearing Owen smash like a diesel powered jackhammer on steroids down the hall to squall and scratch at the bathroom door until I guiltily let him enter upon which time he strips the toilet paper roll of its pesky paper and tries to sample toilet brush and toilet seat before I whisk him away from the germ factory that is our shared bathroom.
But that's it. That is all the satisfaction that I get from my job. I don't feel like it grants me any sort of satisfaction or sense of accomplishment at the end of the day. I feel like, for me, the most satisfying days I had were the ones where I was completely worn out chasing Owen around and I thought I could kill him or become an alcoholic by the end of the day but I fell into bed feeling that my life was complete and happy.
Well, c'est la vie. I made my decision. I want this job in order to facilitate the hours necessary to qualify myself for another 50 weeks of paid maternity leave. I have to keep reminding myself that means 50 weeks of all day, every day play dates with my son and his theoretical little brother or sister getting paid to play with my children. That's the payoff.
And here, my special little guy getting picked up from daycare:
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How on earth did I get so blessed?!?
