Today was Janet’s first day back at work after her twelve week maternity leave. I hadn’t given it much thought until this past weekend, and it made me pretty sad. “Sad” isn’t particularly elegant, but that’s exactly how I felt: sad. Like the kind of sad you feel when your childhood cat dies or at the end of summer camp; like your heart might burst. I dove into my sadness, and realized that I was sad for the following reasons:

* If I was in her shoes, I would be grief-stricken to leave Jonah all day. I’m just not ready. I need to soak him up more. And while her maternity leave is hers and not mine, until this point, we’ve shared this experience. I can’t help but imagine myself in her very tiny shoes, marching back to work after the most interesting and love-filled twelve weeks of my life, and the very thought of it weakens me to tears.

* I’m going to miss her! How often do you get to spend all day, every day with your spouse and your new baby for like, ten straight weeks? Hardly ever. Maybe never. And we might never get to do this again. We were lucky to have the opportunity, and I’m grateful for it, but I’ve gotten used to having her around all the time to joke, chat, bicker, laugh, and gawk in amazement with.

* This monumental first chapter with Jonah is over. I’m not good at goodbyes. It’s like he’s supposed to be grown up enough now to go through the weekdays without his engorged birth mother. All of that makes me miss the sweetness of yesterday, even though yesterday is STILL TODAY! There was no magical flip of a switch to make him mature enough, sturdy enough, or strong enough to manage without her for 10 hours a day! I call bullshit on this arbitrary timeframe.

* Finally, I can’t help but feel a little intimidated of being alone, all day, with Mr. Baby. I know what I’m doing with him, and I LOVE, LOVE, LOVE being with him, but I don’t get a break. I don’t get to toddle off to Ace or the grocery store on a whim. Everywhere I go, he must go with me! Which means I have to be prepared, I have to lug his heft, and (most importantly) he has to be in the mood (AKA – cooperation station). 

This last one slapped me in the face on this, my first day of stay at home mama-ing. I left the house completely prepared for an excursion EXCEPT I forgot the most important thing: a bottle. And it was the stroke of three hours since his last feeding. What a dumb-dumb! I cut my trip short, but not before he whined all over the paper store while I bought some note cards. “How old is he?” asked the clerk. I wanted to tell her he was old enough for me to have remembered a bottle, but instead I just smiled and said, “Twelve weeks. Isn’t he the sweetest?” through gritted teeth, while I shoved a pacifier in his moaning gullet. Long story short: It was a long ride home. It was a long walk into the house. It was a long 3 minutes to prepare and heat his partially-frozen breast milk delight. 

I know it’ll be fine. I’m already looking forward to tomorrow and what we might do together. But that doesn’t diminish the fact that I wish Janet was going to be home with me. We’re such a good team! Ah well. Change is a bitch.