Well, it's been two weeks since I started back to work.
Pauses to pick up baby and nurse.
And I suppose it's going as well as it can. The job is the job, the same one, albeit with a few title changes, that I've had since 2003. I feel old. The colleagues are the same as when I left a year ago, and they are good people, if people I have little in common with. The one person I do have something in common with is my replacement, who left Friday. She was hired, so says the Manager, because "she reminded us of you", and hell he wasn't kidding, we're the same height, build, hair colour, hair length, eye colour, and propensity towards missish librarian dressing and mannerisms. She's someone I could see being friends with but it's kind of laughable to see two shy, introverted people try to get to know each other. My sense is that she would like us to be friends too, so we made friendly overtures but any extrovert watching would have been puzzled by the intense amount of self-consciousness present in the room.
Anyway she's leaving for another job within the Overreaching Organization, so we have a promise of lunch once she's settled.
Pauses to put baby down. Or not. Up! Down! Cuddle! Claw off face!
The Girl has finished two weeks at daycare, and has greatly surprised the caregivers with her ability to settle in and cope. She cries when I leave (once reaching and saying -- possibly for the first time! -- "MAMA!!" which of course shattered my cold, cold heart into a million pieces), but only does so for five minutes or less, and then doesn't cry the rest of the day. She fusses a bit, here and there, but eats, sleeps on the mat like the other kids, and spends her time exploring the centre with great enthusiasm. It's getting easier to leave her, knowing that despite appearances she is having fun -- most days when I get her she's smiling happily and shrieking (happily) about something or other, so clearly she isn't being tortured.
She's noticeably clingier than usual, but I'm feeling better about leaving her now. I remember with The Boy it took three weeks for us both to feel better -- the mythical doing something 21 times makes it a habit -- so now we've completed two weeks I have reasonable hope it will get better. Oh, I know there'll be hiccups in the road. But she's spending the day with what feels like a grandmother, a fellow experienced mom, and a girlfriend of mine ... with some other kids. It's hard to feel too bad about that, especially when on occasion I get to think and converse and have a cup of tea without being interrupted. Oh, and earn a paycheque, the first of which came in on Friday and my bank account ceased its panicked wheezing.
This last week started out with her eating tomato soup and baby puree and baby cereal, and ended with her eating spaghetti, goldfish crackers, and raw apple. Two weeks ago I tried to feed her cooked rice, and in the space of 5 minutes she gagged on it three times, and I hauled her out of her high chair and said "That's it! No more solids!" She can eat puree for the rest of her life, right? Watching your child gag and get that panicked look in her eyes as she's scared is a horrible feeling. And two weeks later this morning she successfully held a piece of raw apple (with me hovering about close by, don't worry.) It just goes to show. I'm planning to cancel the upper GI test. If she can get down a goldfish cracker, that's close enough to a cheerio IMO.
She's very close to walking now too, which is lovely, and so close to talking, and I am SO looking forward to the latter because then we can stop with all the EH! EH! EH! and I can actually figure out -- a little bit -- what's going on in that tiny head.
The Boy is five and gangly and gorgeous and amazing. His hair is too long. His first tooth is loose. Not VERY loose, mind you, just the tiniest amount loose and I have a strange panicky feeling that he's growing up too fast OMG.
Pause to settle children again.
He's a wild mess of crazy silly behaviour and seriousness beyond his years. He runs about like a lunatic making crazy noises from his mouth; he sits with his father to discuss subatomic physics and surprises him by saying "Dad, I already know what gluons are."
Say WHAT? Usborne books FTW!
He's just so typically five in many ways. Long skinny limbs, moving at the speed of light, laughing at everything, crazily affectionate with hugs and kisses, loving video games and soccer and lego. He eats like a champion, willing to try almost everything but decisive with his likes and dislikes. Likes: macaroni and cheese. Pizza. Sushi. Pho. Anything with cheese. Applesauce. Broccoli (cooked). Dislikes: sweet things, for the most part, raw vegetables ("too crunchy!"), spicy things, sticky things. He talks and talks and talks and talks, from the moment he gets up to the moment he falls asleep. Silence is not a feature of this house.
One of the strange affects of daycare has been to take my formerly very reticent, shy, and introverted quiet son and turn him into a very exuberant child who prefers to be surrounded by people. Seriously, before he went to daycare, he and I would go to those "mother and tot" gatherings, and he would refuse to sit on the mat with the other babies, but would insist that he sit on my lap in the chairs. Preferably in the second row back. So he could observe, from a distance. He was so unresponsive to strangers that a lady in a store asked me if something was wrong with him. Within three months of starting daycare he was a much more interactive child; now at five he likes an occasional day at home, but is clearly very happy to be at his daycare, playing with his friends. I once had concerns about him being in after school care, long hours after long hours at a desk; now I don't. I have a feeling the after school care will be his favourite part of the day.
I lie in bed with him at night, on the rare occasion I can get away from The Girl, and we put our faces close together, and tell each other we love each other, and I do. I love him so much, this strange changeling of a child, no longer my baby but my incredibly fast-changing, losing teeth little boy who will tomorrow have grown up and graduated college and be moving in with his partner in life "Hey mom, wanna come for Christmas?"
God yes. I hope so, someday.
But not now.
Now I'm still enjoying a Sunday morning, making pancakes in the kitchen to feed the kids. It's a crazy, chaotic sleepless existence, but among all that is perfection.
And now, back to the weekend laundry blitz.
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