Home

I'm grateful for the pandemic that travelled through our house last week. Michael and Oliver didn't get as sick as I did, and Ollie weathered it out the best of all of us. The great thing about it was that Michael was able to work from home to keep from sharing the nastiness with the rest of his coworkers. Oliver learned all about Daddy's job.

It was bliss for all three of us be home for an entire week together, just before my return to work. I went back on Monday. Our good friend Colleen is watching Oliver through November, and her house is on the way to work for Michael. I would have fallen to pieces had I been the one to drop him off. I fell to pieces in smaller ways on Monday, though mostly I was so exhausted from lack of sleep that I was concentrating on staying awake. I'm still on my crazy meds that keep me up at night, but didn't take a sleep aid for fear that I wouldn't be functional at 5:30, considering Mr. Oliver's 11:30pm bedtime on Sunday. In the dark, I stayed wide awake for all but 3.5 hours. "You look really, really tired," at least 4 coworkers told me. Translation: you look like crap. Welcome back me.

My re-entry went fairly well and I busied myself with a care conference and a home visit, then spent the rest of the day trying to get back into my laptop beyond passwords that have all expired. The wrecker in my day, though, was finding out that I don't have a choice but to come back to my position full-time, 5 days a week. I was hoping for 4 days, to have just one little day in my week with Oliver. Due to hiring freezes, they're really stuck, and need me back in full-swing within the month. I'll be on-call for 72 hour stints one weekend a month and 12 hours a week in addition to my long days. I love what I do, but it's a lot of responsibility, and a lot of time. Time away from my son.

Now that Oliver is in my life, it's difficult for me to envision how this is going to go. I was blessed with three months at home with Oliver, and now I will see him for a mere fraction of his waking hours. How odd that we need to work, in order to afford not only how we're living, but also to pay for someone else to watch our children. It feels backwards to me. Michael woke up last Sunday morning and walked into the nursery to find me quietly crying over Oliver, who was babbling and laughing. I looked at Michael and posed the question that had just started to occur to me: "Is he going to wonder where I am, and why I left?" I had just explained to Oliver why I needed to back to work. Ollie responded by laughing and spitting-up, but I continued to cry. It's hard enough to leave our cat when we leave for a week's vacation. Our cat. And now, all of a sudden, my baby who I've been beside for three months, won't be anywhere near me for at least 10 hours.

I know it'll get easier. People do it all the time. Oliver will be just fine, and I will be too, eventually. My workplace has allowed me to have Tuesday and Thursday off this and next week to ease into my transition. So today I had Oliver, to myself, all day long. We filed his nails, cleaned his ears, went for a walk, visited the library, baked cookies, baked pumpkin bread, made dinner, did three loads of laundry and two loads of dishes, cleaned a bathroom, and took a bath. These days will not be here for long, so I'm determined to make the most of them.

Oh! I almost forgot the best part of our day. We took a nap together, nose to nose, just like we used to. It took awhile for me to fall asleep because I kept opening my eyes to see Oliver's beautiful little face right up by mine. His breath tickled my cheek, and his hands were folded and tucked sweetly under my chin. It was so good to be home.