I don’t believe in engaging in the Mommy Wars.  At all levels I think they’re awful.  I truly believe that moms are all doing the very best that they can and that we should be working harder at supporting one another, instead of judging and tearing each other down.  I’ve always been a working mom.  There was a brief time, back when I had only two kids, that I worked part time but other than that, I’ve always worked full time, outside of the home.  It’s hard.  I’m not saying it’s harder than being a stay at home mom.  I have no idea.  I’ve never been a stay at home mom.  I bet it’s hard too.  Because the truth is, being a mom is hard.  It’s all hard.  So I’m not here to talk about who has it harder.

I can only speak to my experiences and my only experience is returning to work after the babies are born.  Recently I was going through old things I’ve written and I came across a post I wrote in March 2010 about how I felt about going back to work with Baby #1.  I had 12 weeks off after she was born and even though it’s been almost seven years, I can still clearly remember the paralyzing pain I felt when it was time for me to go back to work.  It was a sadness like I’d never experienced before…

So I was totally serious about what I said yesterday about dreading going back to work. Since Sunday every time I’ve even thought about it I start to cry. It’s not necessarily that I don’t want to go back to work. I like my job and the two times I’ve gone back to visit in the last three months I’ve realized that I kind of miss being there. So it’s not the job and the working that I’m dreading. It’s the fact that in order to go back to work I have to leave my baby. 

Leave her. I have to leave her. As in I have to go to work without her. All day. Everyday. For like the rest of ever. And that makes me want to die. How am I supposed to do that?  How am I supposed to successfully do something that makes me feel like I’m going to die?

My husband is staying home with the baby for the next two weeks and then the week after that Hubcap (my mom) will be here to watch her. Then, after that she will go to daycare. DAYCARE. As in, complete strangers are going to be spending all day, every day with my baby. Like, “Here, I spent a lot of time and effort creating this baby and raising her for three months but now I’m done. You do it so I can go to work, sit at my desk and cry all day long. OK, thanks.”

This is so not fair. Stupid bills. Stupid mortgage. Stupid saving for college. Stupid, stupid, stupid.  Everything is stupid.  Why does everything have to be so stupid?

When she was first born I distinctly remember thinking that I would be OK with going back to work. That was back when she was a lump who literally did nothing but eat, sleep, poop and scream and I spent most days just hoping that I would survive, just hoping that I would make it to see tomorrow. She still does the eating, sleeping, pooping and screaming now but she also smiles and babbles and looks at me and has a personality and is so freakin cute. Now instead of just trying to make it through the day I actually look forward to spending time with her. She naps and I can’t wait for her to wake up so I can play with her.  My husband wants his turn to hold her and I can’t wait until it’s my turn again. And now I’m going to go back to work and never ever be able to see her. I’ll see her for a few minutes in the morning and maybe, if I’m lucky, for a few minutes in the evening but that’s it. And that makes my heart hurt.

Whenever I was sad in college, I had a wonderful friend who would get me French fries from Wendy’s to make me feel better. And it almost always worked. So yesterday I went to get French fries. And not only did they not make me any less sad, I was actually so sad that I couldn’t even eat them.

There aren’t many times in my life when I’ve been too sad to eat French fries.  But that’s what going back to work was for me.  It was a sadness that couldn’t even be cured by French fries.