Working Momdom

For nine of my eleven weeks of leave from work, I was in denial.  I was oh so sure that I wouldn't have to go back, although I had no idea how that was going to work.  I didn't play the lotto, or find a work from home program, or start using that Nigerian email scam on people, I just had decided that I wasn't going back.  Until the Friday two weeks before my leave, when I took a deep, hard look at my checking account, then spent the whole day crying.  I HAD to go back to work.  It wasn't a choice, there was no option, I HAD to go back.

Being a working mom sucks.  Yes, sucks.  It sucks hairy, infected monkey balls.  I work because it allows me to live and provide for my family. I hate how rushed I am. I am rushed in the morning, I am rushed at night. On a typical week day, I have 3-4 hours with Ladybug, which includes baths, getting dressed, nursing, etc. That was the biggest adjustment, to go from seeing her all day everyday, to a few fleeting hours. And, if I'm honest, those 11 weeks will likely be the only time that we'll be together like that.  That's fucked up.

I wish staying home was an option.  I wish I could be here to see all of her firsts, I wish mine was the face she'd see when she woke up from a nap. But instead I live with mommy guilt, and continue to tell myself that by working, I am doing the best I can to take care of her.