Denial. This is a good one. Takes its job very seriously - disallowing your mind from going to that place where it really wants to go, the same place that causes unending anxiety. Denial will erase - or redirect - your thoughts to something else: the capture of Whitey Bulger, the Casey Anthony trial, or the fact that Ann Taylor Loft is offering 40% off of everything via your new favorite coupon Web site. After the birth of my second son, I am embarking upon my final two weeks of maternity leave. I am sick-to-my-stomach as I think about this transition from stay-at-home mom of a newborn baby to a working mom of a newborn mom and a toddler making denial my closest confidant right now.
Like so many mothers who have to go back to work full-time after the birth of their children a multitude of emotions permeate our reality: guilt, loss, sadness, regret, resentment, anticipation, and fear. Less than an hour ago I returned home from a wedding shower luncheon for one of my favorite co-workers. Today is a Thursday, so the gathering took place during lunchtime at my place of employment. I dropped my oldest (2.10 months years old) off at my sister's house for a play date and took my youngest (12 weeks old) with me to the party. This was not the first time I have been back at work since I had the baby. Once before I took both kids to the office to see everyone. I am fortunate to have amazing, supportive, caring, funny, and really cool co-workers, and, so, I genuinely want(ed) to see everyone and hear how they were doing and, of course, to celebrate the upcoming wedding of my lovely colleague.
But.
The whole time I was there - and still over an hour later - I have a pit in my stomach that won't go away. I am sick, literally nauseated, at the thought of going back to work, of leaving my baby, my babies. Run away is what I want to do. Hop on a plane with my husband and the two kids and leave the northeast for somewhere cheaper and more hopeful - a state, a community where I can have the option of working part-time or not at all just for a year or two. Reality sets in. I can't leave. No where to go - right now. Two weeks. This is what I have and this time must be savored, like an expensive, gourmet meal that I can't afford or pronounce, or, even see for that matter because it so small sitting on my large, white dinner plate. Instead it will be voraciously devoured like a hungry, postpartum mother who has not eaten since breakfast who only realizes this at dinner time.
Denial will keep me company in the meantime. During meal time, nap time, fun time, all day, all night, every day, every night until the day I get up, take a shower, and start my new, old life as a working mom.
