6 weeks.
Bull shit.
They give you 6 weeks and say that it’s time to go back to work.
Drop your kid off at Grandma’s.
Drop ’em both at a sitter’s.
Get back to work and pretend like it doesn’t feel as if your entire world has been wrenched from your arms.
Look at her. I swear she spent the whole eve of our first day apart touching my face, cuddling tight and smiling at me.
It was different than with Briar, but it still hurt. Still feels incredibly unnatural. I once heard a woman speak at a luncheon, she had started her own business. She said, “I just can’t work for anyone. They look in my eyes, and what can I say, I cannot hide the fact that the “Go to hell” is on the tip of my tongue.”
I can relate in that sometimes as a working mom you feel like you are a hair’s breadth away from saying, “Ya’ll just aren’t worth the time away from my babies.” I am so censoring the words that are in my head, but the gist is about the same.
Luckily I plotted my return to begin on the Friday before a 4 day weekend. So this week will be short, and the next…
well, the next will come. For now I am taking it a day at a time. White knuckles, teary eyes, lump in my throat and all.
I thank all that is good for giving me (us) these healthy, wonderful girls.