When Going Back To Work Feels Like A Vacation

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She is alone with a cup of coffee that is probably even still warm. Vacation.

I am writing this while trying to move as little as possible. This is because I have a three-month-old strapped to my chest since she has recently decided this is the only way she will sleep. Fantastic. So I’m in a sort of squat-like position while typing so that I don’t give her any indication that I’m not standing and rocking her.

This is one of the many reasons why I am positively elated about returning to work.

 

It wasn’t always this way. With my three-year-old son, I was so depressed (both metaphorically and actually as I had been diagnosed with postpartum depression by my doctor) about going back to work that I decided to take a year off instead. Those times we had together were magical. I did get to witness all of his firsts and I shall always treasure those memories. But with my daughter, it’s a whole other ballgame. I love her to death, and she’s a very good baby (minus these little coups she stages every now and again), but the game has quite literally changed as there are now two tiny creatures that I’m responsible for.

What this means is that there is always someone that needs me. Always.

The older one wants me to play trains with him and wants me to watch Disney Jr. and wants to go to the park and wants to go to Disneyland and the list keeps on going. I don’t blame him, he’s three and is so interested in the world and I love it. But mama is tired. That is because the little one is a freaking tyrant sometimes in her needs and I have to cater to the one that cries the loudest (sorry older child).

She wants to be held. All. The. Time. And I love doing it. But I like showering and eating regular meals too.

And it’s a little bit harder to do that with a baby leech. A cute baby leech, but a leech nonetheless. And feeding both is becoming harder too as my oldest has decided to request elaborate meals and then eats none of it, favoring to snack regularly throughout the day on stuff I’m sure I told myself he would never eat. And the youngest is, of course, cluster feeding or maybe even teething (help!), so there’s always someone else that needs attention and it’s hard to cater to both at the same time, even though I really do try. Mama willingly takes the back-burner. And my kids love to not nap at the same time save for one 45 minutes stretch of the day which is just enough time to either eat or shower but not both. So as I shove a power bar into my mouth while I type, let me tell you about the joyous reprieve that working holds.

I will get to eat. Whatever the hell I want. At a time when normal humans eat. And I’ll be able to do it alone. Or maybe even with my husband who works a mile and a half away. Crazy! And I’ll be able to pee when I actually feel the need to. And hopefully, no one will try to climb into the stall with me to boot. It sounds so amazing! I’ll also be able to talk to grown-ups. About grown-up stuff that matters. Or about nothing that matters but I won’t have to tell another person to not shove something into an orifice or to stop dropping their pants in public (then again I suppose this really depends on where you work…). And I will get to drive into and away from work listening to gangsta rap music or NPR or whatever the heck I want on insanely high volume that may cause hearing damage just because I can. And I might even grab a Starbucks while I’m at it. And don’t let me forget that I’ll be making money which is awesome because I have a killer LulaRoe addiction that I have to feed somehow. It’ll be glorious.

So, while I’m sure I’ll miss my little cherubs on that first day or even week of preschool/daycare, I will be drowning my sorrows in some Tupac with a latte. It’ll help.

And I’ll be glad that I’m paying someone else to transition my boob-only baby to the bottle or deal with my son’s reading and math skills. I will enjoy the fun stuff that much more and we will all treasure our precious time together.

And the daycare is under strict orders NOT to tell me when my daughter does her firsts so that I can pretend that she’s doing them for the first time when she’s with me. Win win.

When Going Back To Work Feels Like A Vacation

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Megan Phillips
Megan Phillips is a licensed clinical psychologist who owns a private practice that specializes in helping women and moms in Orange County (www.cottonwoodpsychologycenter.com). She is from the Pacific Northwest, but she and her husband decided to escape the rain and move to warm, sunny Southern California in 2012. Since then, she became a mom to a smart and funny little boy and an adorable baby girl. Megan enjoys cooking and taking in the local sights, and she is always up for a fun mommy’s night out.