Tomorrow. ARRRGG. Tomorrow I return to work after four blissful (baby-birthing! sleep-deprived! poop-filled! major-surgery-recovering!) months off. Tomorrow, Real Life starts again and I have to get back in the business of not wearing jammies all day, having conversations with people who don’t respond in adorable coos and bashful smiles, and using the computer for something besides surfing the net endlessly with a baby attached to my boob.
I’m so happy that I’ve been able to take this time off, but 24 hours x 3 months of BABY!BABY!BABY! is just a bit exhausting… the color and consistency of a certain someone’s poop is my favorite topic of conversation and my idea of a Really Exciting Day is one in which I maybe get dressed and perhaps take a short walk to Starbucks, so… yeah, that’s a probably a sign that I could use a little more normal adult interaction in my life right now. So I guess I can admit that part of me is a little relieved to be going back to work.
But the other part of me? Totally heartbroken. I mean, God. Look at this kid—
He is so delicious! The thought of not being around to witness and delight in every single second of his laughter-filled, chubby-thighed existence fills me with an entirely brand-new kind of despair.
We’ll get through it. Things will fine, I know. But, man, this is gonna suck for a little while.