Because the Money Ran Out

I hate change. Once I've settled into a comfortable routine, I avoid change like I avoid dental work. You can imagine how comfortable my routine had become over the past 16 months of being a stay-at-home mom. Ya, so what I'm still in pajamas at 4pm? Wanna fight about it? Sure, there were days that I was touched out, talked out, tuckered out and glancing around for the nearest escape from my kids. Those days were rare, though. Truthfully, I loved being at home. I accomplished things around my house. I watched Dr. Phil. I wore  yoga pants. I made lunch dates with people I like. Please don't rant at me about how hard it is to be a stay-at-home mom, I get it. It's not for sissies but it had it's undeniable perks and I loved the whole shebang.

Now, the money's run out. I knew in July that September, and my return to work, was looming but I decided that if I didn't think about it, it wouldn't be true. I ignored it in August too, skipping through life like Dorothy and her brainless, heartless, cowardly friends on the yellow brick road to an empty bank account. I have to get back to work and, luckily, I genuinely enjoy what I do. It's an easy runner-up to being at home with my boys. Still, the anxiety that gripped me in the days leading up to my return to the workplace is hard to put into words. During the last week of August, my last week in the honorable position of 'stay at home mom', I would suddenly and without warning, feel punched in the throat. I'm not a rarity, though. Millions of women feel pangs of guilt, worry and excitement after a maternity leave comes to an end. Yes, I said excitement. Like I said, I don't hate my day job. I knew I'd be looking forward to going back but I'd be looking backwards too, at the two pudgy faces I'd be leaving in the care of others. I know they're in good hands but they're not in my hands and that's a tough concession to make. 

The night before my first day back, I didn't sleep. I'm not exaggerating here, I literally did not sleep. I laid awake for 7 hours worrying that I'd miss my train and be late for my first day. Worrying that if I caught the train, it would derail in a fiery blaze and my family would say "If she had just been a stay-at-home mom she wouldn't be dead." Worrying that Simon would swallow a battery. Worrying that Owen's teacher would be a closet child molester. Worrying that the lunch I'd buy in the cafeteria would give me food poisoning. The alarm went off and I dragged my shaky, weary body out of bed and got to the train station. Walking to work, I got caught in a downpour without an umbrella. I stepped in dog shit...in flimsy sandals. I spilled my coffee. I found my work challenging and worried that I was out of my depths, incompetent after my time off. By noon, I'd slipped into the ladies washroom because that's where ladies go if they're about to dissolve into a puddle of tears and dog shit. I sobbed quietly into balled up toilet paper and wondered what my kids were doing at that exact minute. Owen was meeting his Junior Kindergarten teacher for the first time and Simon was starting daycare. I wondered if they missed me because I physically ached from missing them. I'm happy to report that they weren't missing me. They each had a great day. Amazingly, we seem to be raising these confident, resilient, self-assured little creatures who step into new things with such grace. Clearly, they're turning out this way despite me and not because of me. I've always been more likely to roll into a ball, gripped by anxiety, in the face of something new and scary. I'm happy for them. For me, there's always Merlot.