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This was my first week back at work. I'm actually working part time now, Monday-Wednesday. (My company has been very accommodating, and I'm grateful. They're good people.) It felt really good to get back, actually. I mean, work is work, but it's nice to talk to grownups about grownup things and solve problems that do not involve bodily fluids and require my brains instead of my breasts. The fact that my coworkers communicate using words instead of incoherent screaming is a bonus.
The first two days, Chuckro took off. (Daycare started on the first of the month, and this also made the transition a lot easier.) So yesterday was our first day at daycare. It was both easier and harder to drop him off than I'd expected. Harder because man, that morning fell apart. He decided to sleep through the night and wake up at 6 instead of waking once at 3 and then again at 7 like most nights the last couple weeks. So our carefully planned morning routine blew up the moment we woke up. Took a lot longer to get everything together than I'd expected, even though I'd thought I'd laid out almost everything the night before. So by the time I got outside, I already felt like I'd been planning the invasion of Normandy, complete with all the supplies. Then I was harassed by a beggar (which never happens in our neighborhood). Made it to daycare, and discovered the bike lock wasn't long enough for the stroller, after five minutes of frantic fussing with it while he wailed. So by the time I handed him over, my hair was a mess, I was a mess, and he was screaming. It was awesome. Then I picked the wrong subway platform. So frazzled. But from the reports, he had a perfectly pleasant day. His class were introduced to color crayons, which I suspect went over better with the older babies, and photos of pets. Later in the month, they're getting a visit from I think baby farm animals. I doubt that a chicken will make more of an impression on him than, say, a tea kettle, but I'm sure he'll enjoy this kind of thing six months from now.
Maternity leave was the weirdest three months of my life. The first month, especially, was completely timeless. I barely could tell what time of day it was, let alone day or date or even month. In the last couple weeks, we've come to something closer to a routine. I can't predict how productive any given day will be, but over the course of the week, I could usually get some exercise and do some chores and get us both outside a bit. Now we need new routines to some extent. But I think we can handle them. While three months is crazy short by international standards, I can see why we get at least that much. The difference in what he can handle and how recovered I am is enormous. He's sleeping fairly well and has sort of a rhythm and has mastered eating properly and is starting to tolerate slightly damp diapers for longer. I've gotten back into physical shape and can fit back into most of my clothes and am getting enough sleep that while I'm tired all the time, I'm not incoherently exhausted any more. I've stopped hallucinating at night and gone back to more normal dreaming. The first thing I do when he goes down for a nap is usually dishes or ironing, not collapsing on the sofa and trying to catch up a tiny bit on sleep. We have defined playtime and naptime and eating time, instead of an endless blend of vaguely waving arms, sucking badly, and drifting off. He likes his bath, he can whimper instead of scream when he's hungry and kinda trust me to do something about it, he loves going outside. It's amazing, really, how different everything is from two months ago.
So we're (re)joining the wider world. It's big and a little scary for both of us, but it has to be done. And I think we'll be happier for it.
The first two days, Chuckro took off. (Daycare started on the first of the month, and this also made the transition a lot easier.) So yesterday was our first day at daycare. It was both easier and harder to drop him off than I'd expected. Harder because man, that morning fell apart. He decided to sleep through the night and wake up at 6 instead of waking once at 3 and then again at 7 like most nights the last couple weeks. So our carefully planned morning routine blew up the moment we woke up. Took a lot longer to get everything together than I'd expected, even though I'd thought I'd laid out almost everything the night before. So by the time I got outside, I already felt like I'd been planning the invasion of Normandy, complete with all the supplies. Then I was harassed by a beggar (which never happens in our neighborhood). Made it to daycare, and discovered the bike lock wasn't long enough for the stroller, after five minutes of frantic fussing with it while he wailed. So by the time I handed him over, my hair was a mess, I was a mess, and he was screaming. It was awesome. Then I picked the wrong subway platform. So frazzled. But from the reports, he had a perfectly pleasant day. His class were introduced to color crayons, which I suspect went over better with the older babies, and photos of pets. Later in the month, they're getting a visit from I think baby farm animals. I doubt that a chicken will make more of an impression on him than, say, a tea kettle, but I'm sure he'll enjoy this kind of thing six months from now.
Maternity leave was the weirdest three months of my life. The first month, especially, was completely timeless. I barely could tell what time of day it was, let alone day or date or even month. In the last couple weeks, we've come to something closer to a routine. I can't predict how productive any given day will be, but over the course of the week, I could usually get some exercise and do some chores and get us both outside a bit. Now we need new routines to some extent. But I think we can handle them. While three months is crazy short by international standards, I can see why we get at least that much. The difference in what he can handle and how recovered I am is enormous. He's sleeping fairly well and has sort of a rhythm and has mastered eating properly and is starting to tolerate slightly damp diapers for longer. I've gotten back into physical shape and can fit back into most of my clothes and am getting enough sleep that while I'm tired all the time, I'm not incoherently exhausted any more. I've stopped hallucinating at night and gone back to more normal dreaming. The first thing I do when he goes down for a nap is usually dishes or ironing, not collapsing on the sofa and trying to catch up a tiny bit on sleep. We have defined playtime and naptime and eating time, instead of an endless blend of vaguely waving arms, sucking badly, and drifting off. He likes his bath, he can whimper instead of scream when he's hungry and kinda trust me to do something about it, he loves going outside. It's amazing, really, how different everything is from two months ago.
So we're (re)joining the wider world. It's big and a little scary for both of us, but it has to be done. And I think we'll be happier for it.
