We are slowly but surely making the trek home on our no babies adventure. What was supposed to be a quick, non-stop, late afternoon flight yesterday, turned into a massively delayed and ultimately canceled mess, replaced with a two part, tiny prop plane, layover plus delay fiasco. No thank you, United or Delta. No thank you at all.
Still, we should be home in just a few more hours. And with at least one day to spare before I start work.
Lots to do between now and then . . . at least that’s what I like to tell myself. Honestly, though, it is probably 99 percent busy work to distract me from the big scary unknown of Monday morning. Because God knows I’d rather vacuum and fold laundry than feel my actual feelings about going back to work.
On the one hand, I want to go. I really do. I crave the predictability, the mental challenge, and the daily routine of my job.
On the other hand, the babies are changing so much everyday now, it is inevitable that I will miss some awesome developmental milestones and that the babies will become more used to being comforted by our au pair than by me.
I’ve done this before and don’t really expect it to be any different. I will go back to work and will feel torn daily. I will feel like a shitty coworker and a shitty mom on a regular basis because I will feel as though I could always be giving something more (even if that’s not true).
There will be days when it all runs relatively smoothly and days when the wheels come off completely. There will be doctors’ appointments that trump meetings and work calls that mean dinner will be late (and frozen pizza). There will be all-nighters (rarely if ever work-related) and there will be weekends in the office, or at least working from home.
It will be messy and imperfect but also challenging and fulfilling. And that seems like the best sort of balance one can hope for under the circumstances.