Teeth and other dramas
How does it go? There's nothing like a looming deadline to focus the mind? Something like that, anyway.
My official return to work date is Monday, but thanks to some creative rostering I now have until the week after that. It seems like such a long time since I was at work, but it also seems that Maternity leave has gone so very quickly this time. The days didn't ever seem to stretch out for hours on end like they did with Patick, probably because I haven't been on my own with a partner working 14-hour days. And for that I am eternally grateful.
But now with the prospect of my easy life coming to an end, I am feeling i am feeling increasingly stressed. And down. Yesterday found me in the baby change room of Taronga Zoo crying my eyes out: I was tired and frustrated. We had left our modest hotel at 10am, and now it was 1.30pm and all I had seen of the zoo was the shop (it was pouring rain and I didn't have a raincoat and had neglected to bring one for Patrick) and the inside of this changeroom with Ollie having done an enormous poo, and no-one in the zoo seemingly able to tell me where the baby change room was. Ordinarily I would've just changed him on any flat surface, but it was too wet. He had been howling, but by the time I found the changeroom he had fallen asleep, so I had to wake him up to change him which just felt cruel.
The day before we had driven down, with the plan being that Patrick and MrT would catch trains galore whilst I went to my favourite mall: a three level job dedicated ntirely to discount outlets. But when I got there I just found I kept thinking "what's the point? what am I doing here? why do I want to buy just more stuff? It will only clutter up the house..." and similar thoughts. I bought several pairs of shorts for Ollie, some new bath toys (meg the cat has eaten most of the ones we got for Patrick), socks for MrT, a funky laptop sleeve to use as a change mat for MrT when he's being "Mr Mom" when I'm back at work, some drink coasters and a mini of perfume I have been trying to find for a while (Daisy). I immediately felt guilty about the perfume.
yup. down dooby-do down down, comma comma down dooby-do down down. etc.
I'm not looking forward to work, but I'm not entirely sure why. I enjoy my work. I like using my brain. I like my co-wokers, by and large. I really enjoy the company of the nurses and working with them as a team (I know that sounds like the crap you come out with in a job interview, but no, seriously, I really do). So what is it I don't want to do?
I don't look forward to having to beg and plead for time to go and express. I don't look forward to having to find an alternative room in which to do that (there used to be a spare office we all used). I'm not looking forward to the grind of study and "when are you sitting your exam? What year are you again? Which module do you need?" and "have you presented anything at teh meetings this year? Are you doing journal club?" And all that crap.
I'm not looking forward to having to scurry to get there by 7am, leaving Patrick and Ollie in tears behind. I'm not looking forward to not doing any excercise. I'm not looking forward to having to prove myself.
I'm not looking foward to all that.
It's probably too late to see my therapist before I go back, so I desperately need to start trying to think positively. The only problem being that the more you try and fail, the more of a failure you feel. I've increased the dose of my meds, but all that seems to have achieved so far is feeling hot and sweaty and increased... crapulence (literally. if that's even a word)
What a muddle.
Ollie has the tiniest corner of a tooth showing in his perfect, pink gums. Byebye to his gorgeous gummy smile. He is nearly able to sit up by himself. He is hooting and cooing. At not yet 6 months, he is now fitting into some of the clothes Patrick was wearing when he was a year old. He is getting too long to fit onto my lap to breastfeed in polite society (I need to spread out on a lounge to support his weight with my knees- and -shock, horror- not every cafe or restaurant has a couch (I know, it's a shock to me, too)). He is still, for the most part, a happy, smiley, ... jolly individual. His biggest worry is having his toys stolen by his big brother (MINE bird! MINE elephant! MINE MINE MIIIIINE!) who regularly says "I Like it. It's mine." (that 'rules of a toddler' thing, said literally).
It is far easier to do this the second time around, but there is a nagging feeling that he too often gets left propped up on the couch with his toys whilst we attend to Patrick or something else, so he doesn't get nearly as much attention as Patrick did at a similar age, but I guess he is not the first second sibling to fall victim to this. I ought to know, I'm the youngest of 4! Thankfully his naturally sunny nature means that he doesn't seem to mind for the main part. I suppose it is no different to me putting Patrick in the pram and hauling him around various shopping malls to pass the day when he was young. At least this way I'm saving money.
I waste too much time on FarmTown.
Ok, I have to go. There's too much to do. I'll try and write again before long.
My official return to work date is Monday, but thanks to some creative rostering I now have until the week after that. It seems like such a long time since I was at work, but it also seems that Maternity leave has gone so very quickly this time. The days didn't ever seem to stretch out for hours on end like they did with Patick, probably because I haven't been on my own with a partner working 14-hour days. And for that I am eternally grateful.
But now with the prospect of my easy life coming to an end, I am feeling i am feeling increasingly stressed. And down. Yesterday found me in the baby change room of Taronga Zoo crying my eyes out: I was tired and frustrated. We had left our modest hotel at 10am, and now it was 1.30pm and all I had seen of the zoo was the shop (it was pouring rain and I didn't have a raincoat and had neglected to bring one for Patrick) and the inside of this changeroom with Ollie having done an enormous poo, and no-one in the zoo seemingly able to tell me where the baby change room was. Ordinarily I would've just changed him on any flat surface, but it was too wet. He had been howling, but by the time I found the changeroom he had fallen asleep, so I had to wake him up to change him which just felt cruel.
The day before we had driven down, with the plan being that Patrick and MrT would catch trains galore whilst I went to my favourite mall: a three level job dedicated ntirely to discount outlets. But when I got there I just found I kept thinking "what's the point? what am I doing here? why do I want to buy just more stuff? It will only clutter up the house..." and similar thoughts. I bought several pairs of shorts for Ollie, some new bath toys (meg the cat has eaten most of the ones we got for Patrick), socks for MrT, a funky laptop sleeve to use as a change mat for MrT when he's being "Mr Mom" when I'm back at work, some drink coasters and a mini of perfume I have been trying to find for a while (Daisy). I immediately felt guilty about the perfume.
yup. down dooby-do down down, comma comma down dooby-do down down. etc.
I'm not looking forward to work, but I'm not entirely sure why. I enjoy my work. I like using my brain. I like my co-wokers, by and large. I really enjoy the company of the nurses and working with them as a team (I know that sounds like the crap you come out with in a job interview, but no, seriously, I really do). So what is it I don't want to do?
I don't look forward to having to beg and plead for time to go and express. I don't look forward to having to find an alternative room in which to do that (there used to be a spare office we all used). I'm not looking forward to the grind of study and "when are you sitting your exam? What year are you again? Which module do you need?" and "have you presented anything at teh meetings this year? Are you doing journal club?" And all that crap.
I'm not looking forward to having to scurry to get there by 7am, leaving Patrick and Ollie in tears behind. I'm not looking forward to not doing any excercise. I'm not looking forward to having to prove myself.
I'm not looking foward to all that.
It's probably too late to see my therapist before I go back, so I desperately need to start trying to think positively. The only problem being that the more you try and fail, the more of a failure you feel. I've increased the dose of my meds, but all that seems to have achieved so far is feeling hot and sweaty and increased... crapulence (literally. if that's even a word)
What a muddle.
Ollie has the tiniest corner of a tooth showing in his perfect, pink gums. Byebye to his gorgeous gummy smile. He is nearly able to sit up by himself. He is hooting and cooing. At not yet 6 months, he is now fitting into some of the clothes Patrick was wearing when he was a year old. He is getting too long to fit onto my lap to breastfeed in polite society (I need to spread out on a lounge to support his weight with my knees- and -shock, horror- not every cafe or restaurant has a couch (I know, it's a shock to me, too)). He is still, for the most part, a happy, smiley, ... jolly individual. His biggest worry is having his toys stolen by his big brother (MINE bird! MINE elephant! MINE MINE MIIIIINE!) who regularly says "I Like it. It's mine." (that 'rules of a toddler' thing, said literally).
It is far easier to do this the second time around, but there is a nagging feeling that he too often gets left propped up on the couch with his toys whilst we attend to Patrick or something else, so he doesn't get nearly as much attention as Patrick did at a similar age, but I guess he is not the first second sibling to fall victim to this. I ought to know, I'm the youngest of 4! Thankfully his naturally sunny nature means that he doesn't seem to mind for the main part. I suppose it is no different to me putting Patrick in the pram and hauling him around various shopping malls to pass the day when he was young. At least this way I'm saving money.
I waste too much time on FarmTown.
Ok, I have to go. There's too much to do. I'll try and write again before long.
posted by jen at 3:30 PM
2 Comments:
oh geez. i want to say something helpful. but all that is coming to my head is bobby brady saying, "c'mon! we're rooting for ya!". not helpful. sorry.
Sorry about the going back to work. Although you love your job, it is always hard to balance mom and work, IMO.
I hope the "Blues" get better soon. I'm a big believer in therapy, so maybe force yourself to schedule a session?
Ollie's almost 6 months? Whoa.
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