First Day Back
Monday July 20th. D-Day. My first day back to work after having my son. If I said it was hard it wouldn't begin to describe the way I actually felt. So here's a more accurate description: try removing your own spleen with a dull, moldy stick that you found in the woods. That said, Colin was fine and I managed to get through the day without any crying jags, which I considered a major success.
Why, you may ask, would a mother have a blog called In The Oubliette, and what does that mean anyway? And what kind of attitude must she have to juxtapose new motherhood with a dungeon? According to Merriam-Webster an oubliette is "a dungeon with an opening only at the top", from the French oubliettes - plural noun, meaning literally "forgotten places". And I fear that if I don't keep a record I will inevitably forget all of the tiny moments along the way, leaving them in the oubliette of my rather spotty memory. I also know that life as I knew it before Colin's arrival is gone, left in the past, forgotten and unwanted along with my fears of motherhood and my apprehension and terror at the thought of raising a child.
Now, lest I forget, let's get on with the story! We went to the Yankees game on Sunday - a father's day gift for my husband, and a last hurrah for my maternity leave. And frankly I needed to keep my mind off the fact that I was heading back to work. We got to see the new stadium (inaugural season - WOW), had nice seats in right field, a kind usher gave Colin and I a seat in the handicapped section so we could stay out of the sun (yes, we're spoiled!), we brought home a win, survived the subway and train rides, and came home happy and tired.
Sunday night I restlessly prowled the house, getting things ready for the next morning. Prepare bottles for Colin: check. Pack breast pump and all accessories: check. Make lunch for work: check. Put checklist of "stuff" to pack on front door: check. Charge cell phone: check. Set out work clothes for tomorrow morning: check. Set out Colin's outfit for tomorrow: check. Sob hysterically thinking about putting your 12-week-old son into daycare where someone else will get to enjoy his smiles and all his firsts: check. Try to get some sleep: bwah-ha-ha-ha!!!!
Monday morning the alarm went off at 5:15AM, which is frankly obscene. No one should be up at that time. No one. But there I was. Blearily trying to get shoes and socks on to walk the dog. I trudged around for a half hour with her, then started my new morning routine. Feed the pets and make coffee. Shower and toast some bread, then nurse the baby while I'm eating. Shower, get dressed, run a brush through my hair and throw on some makeup. Then a brief pause for fun: I grabbed the camera and caught a quick video of Colin, laying in his bassinet, smiling and kicking his legs wildly. Apparently he was pretty darned excited at the prospect of going to school! That made one of us.
Back to the crunch and chaos... Pack prepared bottles into the diaper bag. Start loading the car. Diaper bag, purse, tote (with my lunch and work items), cell phone, breast pump... oh yeah, don't forget the baby! With all that we somehow managed to get out the door on time, and proceeded to the daycare. Colin kindly provided a high-volume soundtrack for our trip, a little song I like to call "Rhapsody of a Shrieking Child." Daddy came as well, checking out where our boy would be spending his weekday hours.
The rest of the day was relatively uneventful. I spent my morning sorting through the 6,000 emails in my inbox (seriously, over 6,000 emails... and they had an auto-forward-delete set up for all client messages!!!). When lunch finally arrived it was a singular treat being able to drive over and visit with Colin at lunch. I nursed him, after which he head-butted me (his forehead, my tooth and lip) and then the sobbing began. Him, not me. I stalled as long as possible, then headed back to work and finished off my afternoon, counting down the minutes until I could pick up my little guy.
Five o'clock finally came, and I was on my way! Grabbed the baby and we zipped home to let the dog Sydney out. It was a beautiful afternoon so I took Colin behind the house, laid out a towel, and we did "tummy time" out back. Syd joined us, rolling merrily in the grass. My husband then called to give me an estimate of when he'd be home, and to catch up on our days. While we were on the phone Colin was joyfully attempting to scoot across the towel, grunting with effort as he lifted his head to smile up at me. Then he put his head down... arched his back... a little more... a little more... and... WHOOP! He was on his back!!! Yep, 12 weeks old and he rolled over. OH MY GOSH... HE ROLLED OVER! HE DID IT! I GOT TO SEE IT!!! CAN YOU BELIEVE IT?!?! WOW!!!! You'd think he just won the Nobel Peace Prize from my reaction, and yet I didn't feel like I was being over the top. At all. Seriously.
After a brief crying jag, another walk with the dog, and a few diaper changes Colin played nicely in his jiggle-puff-jungle chair while we ate a (very late) dinner, then curled up in my arms smiling until we both drifted off to sleep curled up on the sofa next to Daddy.
Lest you think the day was utterly without issue... at 1AM my husband woke me up. He was trying to take the dog out for her last potty trip of the night, but she had squirmed under the bed and was refusing to come out. He called and called but she ignored him until he tried to reach for her. Then she growled at him. *sigh*
Our dog isn't your usual, relaxed and happy, tail-wagging pup. She's an amazing dog. Brilliant in some respects. And she adores and protects our family with every fiber of her being. But she's terrified of groups of people, and was somewhat traumatized during our evening walk by the gaggles of people we passed as we strolled around the neighborhood. And after her jaunt she apparently decided she had no interest whatsoever in going outside again. Ever. (This isn't the first time we've gone through this - she was like this the entire first summer we had her. Every time she'd see the leash she'd run upstairs and dive under the bed. A "quick" potty break would mean me standing around for 45 minutes while my terrified dog refused to pee. Instead she would strain at the end of the leash, desperately trying to get back inside the house.) I eventually crawled under the bed and coaxed her out but when my darling hubby tried to get the dog to go downstairs she dove back under the bed. AAAAUUUUGGGGHHHH!!!!!! I dropped down and shimmied under the bed (again), got the dog out, walked her to the top of the stairs, closed the bedroom door to block her escape, then escorted our crazy canine into the front hall.
Now I was awake. Wide awake. With only four hours until I had to get up for the day. Not a good combination. I cleaned the kitchen, started the dishwasher, and started to pre-organize for the morning while trying hard to not step on our 17-year-old cat who had parked himself conveniently in the middle of the kitchen floor. I was still wide awake, so I nursed Colin and then laid staring at the ceiling until I eventually drifted off with the baby nestled peacefully on my chest. A good thing too, because I overslept and would have missed work completely if he hadn't started doing his hungry dance at 6AM. Now I knew I was in trouble. Forty-five minutes of my carefully planned morning routine were gone, so I had to kick it into high gear.
Feed-the-baby, walk-the-dog (so VERY glad it is raining), drag-garbage-to-the-curb, feed-the-pets, shower-makeup-clothes-coffee, pack-pack-pack, grab-the-baby, and I was nearly out the door when... SCREEECH! My husband kindly informed me that he could see my stripey underwear through my tan pants. Wonderful. I handed the still-sleeping baby to him, sprinted up the stairs, fixed my foundation issues, then zoomed back down to find my son smiling and nuzzling into his father's shoulder. Forget rushing - I took a moment and just soaked in their beautiful faces.
OK, rushing again. Blanket over the baby's head and we're on our way to the car. I stood in the rain trying to get the 17-buckles of the car seat latched, hopped in the car as Colin (thankfully) fell back asleep, and we were on our way. Today was pajama day at school, which Colin celebrated by staying asleep as I dropped him off and placed him in his crib tucking a blanket around him.
I think I'm going to be able to get through this. Sleep is obviously a part of my past, but the teeniest things provide moments of incredible joy. A miniature smile on his little face is enough to get me through the day. Another day, in the oubliette.
Why, you may ask, would a mother have a blog called In The Oubliette, and what does that mean anyway? And what kind of attitude must she have to juxtapose new motherhood with a dungeon? According to Merriam-Webster an oubliette is "a dungeon with an opening only at the top", from the French oubliettes - plural noun, meaning literally "forgotten places". And I fear that if I don't keep a record I will inevitably forget all of the tiny moments along the way, leaving them in the oubliette of my rather spotty memory. I also know that life as I knew it before Colin's arrival is gone, left in the past, forgotten and unwanted along with my fears of motherhood and my apprehension and terror at the thought of raising a child.
Now, lest I forget, let's get on with the story! We went to the Yankees game on Sunday - a father's day gift for my husband, and a last hurrah for my maternity leave. And frankly I needed to keep my mind off the fact that I was heading back to work. We got to see the new stadium (inaugural season - WOW), had nice seats in right field, a kind usher gave Colin and I a seat in the handicapped section so we could stay out of the sun (yes, we're spoiled!), we brought home a win, survived the subway and train rides, and came home happy and tired.
Sunday night I restlessly prowled the house, getting things ready for the next morning. Prepare bottles for Colin: check. Pack breast pump and all accessories: check. Make lunch for work: check. Put checklist of "stuff" to pack on front door: check. Charge cell phone: check. Set out work clothes for tomorrow morning: check. Set out Colin's outfit for tomorrow: check. Sob hysterically thinking about putting your 12-week-old son into daycare where someone else will get to enjoy his smiles and all his firsts: check. Try to get some sleep: bwah-ha-ha-ha!!!!
Monday morning the alarm went off at 5:15AM, which is frankly obscene. No one should be up at that time. No one. But there I was. Blearily trying to get shoes and socks on to walk the dog. I trudged around for a half hour with her, then started my new morning routine. Feed the pets and make coffee. Shower and toast some bread, then nurse the baby while I'm eating. Shower, get dressed, run a brush through my hair and throw on some makeup. Then a brief pause for fun: I grabbed the camera and caught a quick video of Colin, laying in his bassinet, smiling and kicking his legs wildly. Apparently he was pretty darned excited at the prospect of going to school! That made one of us.
Back to the crunch and chaos... Pack prepared bottles into the diaper bag. Start loading the car. Diaper bag, purse, tote (with my lunch and work items), cell phone, breast pump... oh yeah, don't forget the baby! With all that we somehow managed to get out the door on time, and proceeded to the daycare. Colin kindly provided a high-volume soundtrack for our trip, a little song I like to call "Rhapsody of a Shrieking Child." Daddy came as well, checking out where our boy would be spending his weekday hours.
The rest of the day was relatively uneventful. I spent my morning sorting through the 6,000 emails in my inbox (seriously, over 6,000 emails... and they had an auto-forward-delete set up for all client messages!!!). When lunch finally arrived it was a singular treat being able to drive over and visit with Colin at lunch. I nursed him, after which he head-butted me (his forehead, my tooth and lip) and then the sobbing began. Him, not me. I stalled as long as possible, then headed back to work and finished off my afternoon, counting down the minutes until I could pick up my little guy.
Five o'clock finally came, and I was on my way! Grabbed the baby and we zipped home to let the dog Sydney out. It was a beautiful afternoon so I took Colin behind the house, laid out a towel, and we did "tummy time" out back. Syd joined us, rolling merrily in the grass. My husband then called to give me an estimate of when he'd be home, and to catch up on our days. While we were on the phone Colin was joyfully attempting to scoot across the towel, grunting with effort as he lifted his head to smile up at me. Then he put his head down... arched his back... a little more... a little more... and... WHOOP! He was on his back!!! Yep, 12 weeks old and he rolled over. OH MY GOSH... HE ROLLED OVER! HE DID IT! I GOT TO SEE IT!!! CAN YOU BELIEVE IT?!?! WOW!!!! You'd think he just won the Nobel Peace Prize from my reaction, and yet I didn't feel like I was being over the top. At all. Seriously.
After a brief crying jag, another walk with the dog, and a few diaper changes Colin played nicely in his jiggle-puff-jungle chair while we ate a (very late) dinner, then curled up in my arms smiling until we both drifted off to sleep curled up on the sofa next to Daddy.
Lest you think the day was utterly without issue... at 1AM my husband woke me up. He was trying to take the dog out for her last potty trip of the night, but she had squirmed under the bed and was refusing to come out. He called and called but she ignored him until he tried to reach for her. Then she growled at him. *sigh*
Our dog isn't your usual, relaxed and happy, tail-wagging pup. She's an amazing dog. Brilliant in some respects. And she adores and protects our family with every fiber of her being. But she's terrified of groups of people, and was somewhat traumatized during our evening walk by the gaggles of people we passed as we strolled around the neighborhood. And after her jaunt she apparently decided she had no interest whatsoever in going outside again. Ever. (This isn't the first time we've gone through this - she was like this the entire first summer we had her. Every time she'd see the leash she'd run upstairs and dive under the bed. A "quick" potty break would mean me standing around for 45 minutes while my terrified dog refused to pee. Instead she would strain at the end of the leash, desperately trying to get back inside the house.) I eventually crawled under the bed and coaxed her out but when my darling hubby tried to get the dog to go downstairs she dove back under the bed. AAAAUUUUGGGGHHHH!!!!!! I dropped down and shimmied under the bed (again), got the dog out, walked her to the top of the stairs, closed the bedroom door to block her escape, then escorted our crazy canine into the front hall.Now I was awake. Wide awake. With only four hours until I had to get up for the day. Not a good combination. I cleaned the kitchen, started the dishwasher, and started to pre-organize for the morning while trying hard to not step on our 17-year-old cat who had parked himself conveniently in the middle of the kitchen floor. I was still wide awake, so I nursed Colin and then laid staring at the ceiling until I eventually drifted off with the baby nestled peacefully on my chest. A good thing too, because I overslept and would have missed work completely if he hadn't started doing his hungry dance at 6AM. Now I knew I was in trouble. Forty-five minutes of my carefully planned morning routine were gone, so I had to kick it into high gear.
Feed-the-baby, walk-the-dog (so VERY glad it is raining), drag-garbage-to-the-curb, feed-the-pets, shower-makeup-clothes-coffee, pack-pack-pack, grab-the-baby, and I was nearly out the door when... SCREEECH! My husband kindly informed me that he could see my stripey underwear through my tan pants. Wonderful. I handed the still-sleeping baby to him, sprinted up the stairs, fixed my foundation issues, then zoomed back down to find my son smiling and nuzzling into his father's shoulder. Forget rushing - I took a moment and just soaked in their beautiful faces.
OK, rushing again. Blanket over the baby's head and we're on our way to the car. I stood in the rain trying to get the 17-buckles of the car seat latched, hopped in the car as Colin (thankfully) fell back asleep, and we were on our way. Today was pajama day at school, which Colin celebrated by staying asleep as I dropped him off and placed him in his crib tucking a blanket around him.
I think I'm going to be able to get through this. Sleep is obviously a part of my past, but the teeniest things provide moments of incredible joy. A miniature smile on his little face is enough to get me through the day. Another day, in the oubliette.
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