On Returning to Work

One of my coworkers is back to work today after 12 weeks of maternity leave with her beautiful baby girl. Seeing her has me thinking about that day looong ago, over 2 years now, when Hubs and I dropped Munch off at daycare for the first time.

Confession: Though I like my work, I wish I could do it part-time and be with Munch for 20 more hours each week. I dreaded going back to work. For me, maternity leave was a magical, blissful 4 months of moments in time, moments I would never get back. I would never, even if I had another baby, experience their like again.

It was Munch and me. We fell into a happy routine, most days. Once he was about 6 weeks old and I felt brave enough to take him outside, he and I went and met Daddy for lunch almost every day. We still look back longingly on those early days at Panera, with Munch sleeping in his bucket seat.

Then, I'd take Munch to our favorite outdoor shopping center and we'd take a walk around the lake, which would put him to sleep again, and then I'd sit with a Starbucks and still-sleeping baby for an hour or so at Barnes and Noble.

And that's pretty much all we did, for 4 solid months. I loved it, I loved him, and I loathed the idea of leaving him with ANYONE every day, except me.

But, bills come calling and leaves come to an end. Returning to work was one of the hardest experiences of my life, and I still feel sad thinking of those first devastating weeks.

I did several things wrong, going back to work. The biggest one is I went back on a Monday. Mondays are torturous days under the best of circumstances, but they are the worst for maternity leave endings--the long week stretches out ahead and the thought wouldn't go away: How am I going to do this for 4 more mornings?

Hubs and I went to daycare together, that first morning. It's likely I wouldn't have been able to leave my still smush-faced baby if we didn't go together. We dropped him off, and I did that part "right" at least. I kissed his little head and handed him over to the teacher. We'd picked this place months ago, and I was confident in them. But I was also ragingly jealous of them--they got to see my baby ALL DAY.

I got out of the room without crying, I think made it to the car. Hubs and I went to Starbucks and sat quietly for a few minutes, just feeling the oddness of knowing he was out there, a mile away, with virtual strangers, and we were here. I felt like my arm had been cut off--or, really, my heart severed out.

Those first weeks, I would shut my office door and cry. A lot. More than I think a lot of mothers do. I just couldn't stop thinking about Munch and how I so badly wanted to be with him. Looking at pictures made it worse, so I didn't have many on my desk. I don't know if I was maybe mourning maternity leave, but at first, being back at work felt like being squarely in the middle of grief.

Once, I ran into a coworker whose baby was then 18 months old. We stood in the copy room while she told me that sometimes she would go into her baby's room just so she could smell her. And she started crying right there. The anxiety released in me a bit--it was normal, maybe, to miss someone this profoundly.

Well-intentioned people said, "You'll get used to it." I wanted to SCREAM, That is worse. I didn't want to get USED to missing Munch, and, worst of all, being away from him.

I had to accept that this was life. I couldn't change it, not with our financial situation. I had to stop thinking about alternatives because they drove me crazy. There was no alternative.

Honestly, I entered counseling. Once I found the right doctor, it was the absolute best thing I ever, ever did. I wish I'd gone years ago, or at least when I got pregnant.

Because, duh, becoming a mother changes you. Fundamentally. And yet, after the beautiful bubble of maternity leave, there was my life. Right where I left it. My same office. Same coworkers. Same commute. Same parking lot. Same responsibilities.

And yet, who was I? Who was this mother-me who had reveled in weekdays spent at the bookstore, gazing more at her sleeping boy than the page of her book? How could I be all the "mes"--Mother-Me, Worker-Me, Wife-Me, Weight-Watcher-Me, Sister-Me, Daughter-Me, ME-Me?

Going back to work felt like the world crashing in around me--HERE ARE ALL THE THINGS YOU MUST DO AND BE. So I needed help adjusting, integrating all the Mes into one healthy person.

And, just as everyone said, I have "gotten used to it." It just took me a while, a LOOONG time. It helps that Munch is happy at daycare, and he's learned so much. He loves it, really, and I do feel that I'm doing something positive for him, putting him in the world and showing him that mommy works, just like daddy.

Just as giving birth is a rite of passage, so is returning to work. Maternity leave, which is far too short in this country, is a sort of bridge between the life-changing, world-shifting event that is becoming a mother. Returning to work felt like learning to stand on my own again, entering the world anew.

I still miss him. I still feel guilt. But I'm better at telling myself it's okay. He's okay. I'm okay.

The Origin Story

Hubs and me on the Gettysburg College campus

Before Munch, there were two people who fell in love. This is how they came to be that way.

If you know me or have followed my blog you may have gleaned that I was not the most confident of people in my childhood, teen, and young adult years. (Can you read between the lines to see the gross understatement?) I blame this lack of confidence on my being overweight, but of course my reaction to my size is symptomatic of my lack of self-confidence and low self-esteem. After all, one of my good friends from high school was as large as me and she started on the basketball team and had a ton of friends, if not boyfriends.

But this is not a story about weight, though all of my stories seem to come back to it. Probably, it's a crutch, but I'll figure that out later. Suffice it to say that by the time I turned 21, I had not had a boyfriend, not one. I had not casually dated, not once. I went to my junior prom on a blind date and never saw him again (he turned out to be a little cray-cray, so no harm done). I was, as they say, inexperienced in the love department.

Hubs, on the other hand, 500 miles away and in ignorance of his future wife's existence, had an active social life. Whilst he didn't date like crazy, he was beloved by many girls in high school. He was the "guy friend" that always had gals calling on the phone, I'm told. Gaggles of them, in my mind. He was a sweet guy, genuine, steady, the same as he is now. He had a serious girlfriend I believe when he was 16, took the breakup hard, but eventually got over it and later introduced me to the girl over dinner at The Olive Garden.

Hubs and I went to the same college, but we didn't get together until the second semester of our senior year. We crossed paths during our first 3 years, both working at the library and even being in the same World Music small group during sophomore year. I still have our final paper, and there are our names sitting next to one another.

But, you could say, Hubs had a distraction those first years in the form of a long-term, long-distance relationship with a girl in Upstate New York. While I spent my college years watching friends hook up and break up and eventually go long-term, Hubs worked hard on a relationship that ended badly right before senior year, devastating him. He started senior year in the middle of an ending.

By the time I started my senior year, I was in the middle of a beginning. By second semester, I had lost 100 pounds and gained some form of self-confidence. I'd dated one guy who seemed quite into me, though sadly for him, the feeling was not mutual. It felt weird to reject someone after years of being rejected--something in me said to be grateful for what I got. But, off he went, and off I went.

The last week of January, a mutual friend of ours (who also was in that World Music small group) threw a party. A gala, we called it. It was held in her dorm room. I showed up in size 6 (6! from Aeropostale!) jeans and a purple-striped shirt I still have. I wasn't a big drinker, but that night, I drank. I danced, a bit.

And across the room, I saw Hubs. He was wearing a backwards baseball cap, as was his custom. And shorts. In January. I would learn that such quirks also were his custom.

One of our engagement pics, taken in front of the dorms
where the gala took place.

We worked our way toward one another throughout the night. I kept offering him drinks, which he politely and consistently declined--with the excuse that he'd just played tennis, which made PERFECT sense to me. Later, I would learn that Hubs doesn't drink, never has (still hasn't), and I would feel like a LUSH. And the family lore would go that Hubs and I got together when I was drunk.

Around 11pm (seriously, what a rager, eh?), there was a knock at the dorm room door. In walked a Campus Security officer. He said we needed to break it up because of the noise (music), so I guess it may have been a bit of a rager. I was of age, but hadn't brought my license.

I sat down on the couch and huddled behind the guy sitting there--Hubs. I laid my hand on his arm. And he patted my hand with his.

Looking back, this is the moment that we both "knew something" was happening.

My friend came to collect me for the walk back to our dorm room. I later learned Hubs was going to offer to walk me back. We had made no plans to see one another again, not for Hubs' lack of trying. He and some friends were going to see Black Hawk Down the next night, but I said I didn't want to go because I didn't want to see that movie. (What. An. Idiot.)

Over the next week, I found myself thinking about Hubs at odd times. I'd look for him as I walked across campus. I stopped by the circulation desk where he worked. He gave me a ride to the gym when he saw me walking.

I remember realizing that Hubs was just "in my mind" when I watched TV--and that I thought I liked him. The thought panicked me. I didn't WANT to like him. I didn't want to feel how I felt when the other guy liked me and I didn't like him. I was feeling the tremors of vulnerability that love brings, I know now. I didn't want to be vulnerable.

The timing wasn't ideal, for me or for Hubs. We were both graduating in 3 months and who knows what life would bring. For Hubs' part, he kept the similar thoughts he was having about me a secret from most of his friends and family because he didn't want to hear what they would surely say--his 2.5-year relationship had just ended and was this really the best time to get involved with someone new?

But, we both pushed those fears away, thankfully, and Hubs came over to my dorm for biscuits (yes, biscuits) 6 days after the gala and the next night we went on our first date to see A Beautiful Mind. We had Wendy's for dinner. We talked into the night afterwards, about everything, and he kissed me when he left--and it was the kiss that told me I was on the right track. It EMBODIED Hubs. Genuine. Steady.

Three months later, we graduated college. Three months after that we both started grad school in Washington, DC. We moved in together at our mothers' mutual suggestion--to save money, they said.

Five years later, we got married.

And 4 years later, our lives changed forever, with the birth of our firstborn son.

Baptism Birthday

My sister, Munchkin's godmother, reminded me that today is the 1-year anniversary of Munch's baptism. The story:

He was baptized in our Lutheran church on the first Sunday of August 2011. It was HOT, humid (funny, just like now), and we had a large picnic planned at a nearby state park pavillion. Many people came. Lots of family at the service as well: Us, my parents, Patty, Jennifer (godmother), Tina, Lisa, Ben, MIL, SFIL, Nate (godfather), Remy, and my grandparents. Ben filmed the baptism, but I don't think he got much of it, and we've never watched the video.

Our regular pastor was unfortunately on vacation, but a former bishop did the honors. Munch fell asleep for the service before the ceremony and didn't cry during the water portion. Funnily, the church was set up for vacation Bible school, and so all of our pictures have huge pandas in the background.

Munch wore the cutest little white suit with shorts, a vest, tie, and a hat like a train conductor. He was almost 5 months old.

At the picnic, we had lovely salads, burgers and hotdogs that my dad and Ben grilled, and cupcakes from Lily McGilly's that had ugly fondant block letter Fs on them. I had pictured something pretty and festive, but they still tasted good.

Lots of friends and family came to the picnic despite the heat: Lara, Laura, (with Margaret in tow) Linda, D, Rob, Elizabeth, Ruby, Adam, Jamie, Ed, and Justin. They brought gifts though we said not to. Many of them made me cry with their "little boys are" sentiments!

Munch was shuttled around so everyone got a little cuddle, then I nursed him in the air conditioned car and he fell asleep, flat on his back in his stroller for the second half of the party.

We got cleaned up just as the rain came pouring down! All in all, a successful day.

I Want My Mommy: Why?

Poll: When you were growing up and you didn’t feel good, which parent did you run to? Which parent did you want most to cuddle you? I would wager than the vast majority of people would say: Mom.

As a mom, this tickles me.

As a wife, this troubles me.

When I imagine how my husband must feel when my son reaches desperately to transfer from him to me, I feel heartbreak. Even worse—Hubbaland has told me it makes him feel bad. And there’s nothing I can do about it.

One of the beautiful things about childhood is complete abandon to one’s feelings. The Munch feels no shame in moving from one toy to another, one activity to another, one person to another. He does what he feels, and his desires change from moment to moment. At some point, he will realize other people have feelings. And he will pause, think, consider. But now—he just feels and acts without guilt or obligation.

The Bond

My older sister once commented, as she watched Munch snuggled against my chest, “The mother-child bond. I don’t know how it happens, but it does.” And it’s true. Our mothers are of paramount importance to our lives, our whole lives. If they were kind, loving, and supportive, you grow up feeling secure in the notion that at least one person in this world will always have your back.

If they were distant, cold, and harsh, you grow up (I imagine) feeling a small hole in your being—like you know something was supposed to go there, but you were denied it and the emptiness will always be with you. We mothers—we hold tremendous power over these tiny beings grown in our bellies, and it saddens me that so many mothers are such broken people that they intentionally or inadvertently damage such vulnerable things as their children.

I worried about “the bond” before Munch was born. What would I feel? Would I feel anything? What if I felt nothing? Even after experiencing the bond, it’s nearly impossible to describe.

Munch was only 2 days, old when I realized full-on that the bond had already clasped me like a vise, irrevocably and eternally, around this fragile and perfect person I’d only just met. I was in the hospital still, and Munch was in the little clear-sided bassinet, swaddled and sleeping, under his pink and blue knit cap. I felt a gushing well-spring of love in my chest, my whole self, and it brought with it a certain amount of panic to me, who fears loss above all else, who keeps many people at arm’s length, that I loved this child with a fierceness that was unparalleled by anything in my life. If anything happened to him, I knew on this second day of motherhood, I would be broken in ways that it’s best not to imagine, ways that would make the years stretch on in an endless, joyless beat, and I wouldn’t ever quite know color again.

What caused the bond? Was it hormones, evolved over the millennia to just the right mix to ensure that we new lionesses didn’t abandon our cubs? Or was it something more miraculous, something that we women are blessed to feel, after our trials of labor? “Here now, this is yours to treasure.”

And, as demonstrated by Munch’s desperate calls for me when I leave a room even now, the bond stretches both ways. In the early days, newborns, with their mushed-up E.T. faces and mewling cries, rely purely on instinct to get by. The bond they feel for their mothers is an instinct. Research shows newborns can recognize their mothers by scent. After spending 10 months literally attached to one another, mothers and babies are primed for a relationship. Mothers scoop up their babies with the sense of, ah, here you are, this bundle that has kicked me and laid against my bladder for so many months. Welcome home.

The bond is a gift, and I cherish it, even as it still terrifies me with its power.

5 Things I Remember About the Hospital

In honor of the Munchkin's 16-month birthday:

1) Hubs and I were quite unhurried checking into the maternity ward, likely because it was a scheduled induction and I wasn't huffing and puffing with contractions in a wheelchair. But it was still striking--just like checking in for any other procedure. Only we would take home a new person when this was all over.

2) I slept almost not at all that night. We arrived at 6pm on a Sunday, I ate Chipotle that Hubs brought from across the street, and the nurse put in the gel to do its work overnight. It was pretty quiet for a while, and I remember thinking we must be the only ones on the ward. Then, the screams started through the wall, a reminder that this was not a place for rest, but labor.

3) It's a good thing I didn't have a baby heart monitor at homeduring my pregnancy. I watched the screen constantly, making sure that the line didn't go above or below the "normal" zone.

4) I was grateful when the night nurse who took care of me the first night came back as I was still lying there the second, as my labor was heating up. I didn't like the day nurse and I think my birth experience would have been much different if she was the one who helped deliver Munch.

5) Hope and excitement. And, of course, anxiety. I couldn't wait to meet the baby. And we'd come this far, and gotten so close, that I didn't want anything to go wrong. It took over 24 hours, but all was well and we had a beautiful baby boy at 2:32am on Tuesday.

5 Things I Miss About Pregnancy

Especially now that I know the little being who eventually graced us with his presence:

1) Feeling him move. It was a comfort on a practical level, since his movement is the only day-to-day reassurance pregnant women have that all is well in there. But it was also comforting on an emotional level--I enjoyed knowing that I was never truly alone during that time. He was sharing my space.

2) Holding my hand on my belly. I loved to sit at my desk with my palm splayed across my hard stomach. This is the universal sign of a pregnant woman. I felt like I was holding him, maybe resting my hand on his tiny rump as he snoozed. Sometimes, I find myself sitting that way now, and I quickly move my hand away, lest any passers-by get the wrong idea.

3) Ultrasounds. These little windows into another realm were treats that we received more frequently than many of my pregnant friends for reasons I still don't quite understand. We seemed to have an ultrasound every 3 weeks. The most amazing ones: seeing the baby (Munch!) suck his thumb and watching him flail his arms and legs. Of course, me being me, the moments at the start of the ultrasound, before the familiar whir-whir-whir of the heartbeat came through, were terrifying. But that made the payoff of seeing his little face that much sweeter.

4) Buying stuff. I love to buy stuff as a rule, but buying baby and nursery stuff was purposeful and necessary. Okay, maybe not everything was necessary. But going to Great Beginnings and looking at furniture and bathroom stuff and feeding stuff was wonderful, even those many times when we left without buying anything because we were so overwhelmed by it all.

5) The anticipation. Pregnancy is a magical time. Anything is possible. That little lump is anyone. Hubbaland and I talked about name possibilities for hours. We wondered dozens of things at once. Will he be a massive, 10-pound baby with a huge head? (We thought so, right up until he popped out at 6 pounds, 15 ounces with a very normal head, thank you very much.) Will he be a she? (I still think Dr. J spilled the beans at 24-ish weeks, but Hubbaland doesn't.) Will he have red hair? (We think so.) The anticipation in hindsight is infinitely sweeter knowing the wonderful baby we were blessed with that day. Well, the wee hours of that night.

Lightning Crashes

Via http://cosmicconvergence.org/?p=1109

The weekend didn't exactly turn out as we'd anticipated, as the DC area was walloped with a type of storm called a derecho on Friday night. It was no ordinary storm, and pretty much everybody in the area experienced some lack of power ... except, luckily, for my MIL, so we were over there Friday night and much of Saturday. Our power came back on by Saturday night.

The Highlight:

• Taking a nap in the same room as The Munch. I find it incredibly peaceful to sleep in the same room as Munch is sleeping. I love to hear his soft breath and little sighs and when he shifts to a new position. He had woken up around 7:30am on Saturday, despite a very late bedtime because of the storm, so by 10am, he was ready for a nap (as was I). He slept in his pack n play and I in the bed nearby. 

We kept Munch in our room much longer than the required 6 weeks after he was born. He slept in a pack n play, all swaddled up in a tight burrito. He would lay there next to our bed and simply fall asleep. By 3 months old, he was breaking the swaddle and rolling onto his side, but still he remained in our room. We moved him to his crib when he was about 6 months old. He made the transition easily, and I went in to check him only once before heading to bed myself.

It wasn't that I couldn't sleep without Munch near me; it was that I didn't think 6 weeks was near old enough to send him off into his own space, a mere 20 feet though it may be. This little being had spent over 9 months in me; then I and he were expected to quickly move to separate rooms? I just wasn't ready. I still check him most every night before going to sleep.

The Good:

• Spending Friday evening in Hershey with the Hubbaland for the last Dave Matthews concert of the season. It was hot, but overcast with a small breeze, so it wasn't too sweltering. We had a wonderful dinner at Red Robin (I'm always amazed that there's hardly any wait on concert days and in the summer with families coming from the amusement park; they must staff to the hilt), then we went to our traditional go through Chocolate World before going into the stadium for the concert.

It was a better concert than Nissan, but we ended up missing the encore (luckily, it was Ants Marching, which we've heard plenty) because the lightning started pretty hard core near the end of the concert and the Hubbaland got nervous. Many people started streaming out once a huge lighting tree went down to the ground nearby. Nervous Nelly (me) wasn't scared at all, but I followed Hub's lead as he had a bad feeling about the whole scene. We ran to the car, all the way down at the outlets, and got on the road just as the rain started.

• Despite leaving the concert early, still seeing Dave's tour buses leaving and getting a glimpse of Carter and Jeff.
• Spending a quiet day at the MIL's on Saturday and eating (too many of) her fabulous oat bars.
• Watching The Munch chase Hubbaland around the living room with his various walkers.
• Doing Wheels on the Bus at Munch's continued insistence.
• Lunch at Panera on Sunday with Hubs and Munch.

The What?

• The storm knocking out all of the traffic lights, making it a hazard driving anywhere, especially since it seemed like the heat and lack of power brought out the reckless in everyone.