No need for the alarm. Baby Girl cries for the boob. My husband, MJ, looks cozy on his side of the bed. I groggily walk down the dimly lit hall to her nursery and grab Baby Girl. She screams bloody murder as I change her diaper. Her screams seem extra ear piercing this morning. Does she sense I'm leaving her? No, she just wants to get the hell out of her soggy diaper. It's fuller than normal because she slept for 5 hours. I give her face full of crocodile tears an extra kiss for letting me sleep the night before my first day back to work.
I normally dread the 6 AM feeding because I feel like a hot tranny mess around that time. Don't get me wrong. 3 AM feedings suck, but at least I know people are still out clubbing somewhere and I feel somehow justified being awake at that time. Now 6 AM even the Lindsay Lohan's out there are asleep (or at least doing the walk of shame of home). However, this particular morning, I relished that 6 AM feeding. I had Baby Girl's naked diapered body all snuggy next to me. Her big blue saucer eyes stared at me with a look of both love and "thank God you gave me the boob." Of all damn mornings, why did she have to be extra cute? I handed her off to MJ and took my shower.
7:15 AM
I walked out the door pissier than I normally am at that hour. Granted it felt good to have my hair done and make-up on. Something that rarely happened while on maternity leave. I was beside myself with delight that I could finally wear my sexy black suede BCBG high heel boots again. (They sat in the closet during the bulk of my pregnancy longing to be worn). I got in my car and took off for The Evil Empire also known as work. I noticed I was timid driving the freeway of death for the first time in 2 months. I had always been a 80 mph kinda girl, but today I found myself asking "why is everyone driving so freaking fast?" I guess having Baby Girl has made me value my own life a little more. I need to be alive for her.
8:15 AM
Well, I made it to The Empire only 15 minutes late. Not so bad for my first day back. There was no where to park and I ended up across the street. I had to traipse across BFE lugging my laptop bag, my tote bag with my lunch, my Coach bag, and my super swanky bag (note the sarcasm) which contained my breast pump. Suddenly those hot boots weren't feeling so hot anymore.
Disgruntled from both being back at work and the unplanned nature hike, I made it to my desk. My coworkers all came over and "oohed" and "ahhed" of Baby Girl's pictures. Looking at her sweet face in the photos made me smile for the first time since I left the house. Then, it was business as usual. I went and told my manager I was back. His response was welcoming but followed up with "We have a team meeting at 9" I let him know I would possibly have to leave the meeting to pump.
9 AM
blah blah blah work blah blah blah team results blah blah blah WHOA! My boobs are totally engorging during this meeting. I need to pump stat.
10 AM
So, we have lactation rooms here. Excellent! The Evil Empire isn't that evil after all. I've heard some horror stories from women whose companies are not supportive of breast feeding moms. My own step sister had to pump in a basement closet at her company. So I thank you, Empire, for being forward and supportive enough of your female employees to provide lactation rooms.
I get in the lactation room and find a comfy chair, purell, and a spray sanitizer. I get out my pump and get ready to do my thing. I look down at the chair and see some other woman's milk stains left on the chair. I instantly get skeeved out and get the sanitizer and wipe down the chair. Take 2. I start to pump and notice the chair is a recliner. My feet were victims to the hot boots debacle, so I recline. Mistake! One should not pump and recline. Milk starts spilling out of the bottles and onto my dress. I can only imagine how hot I looked. Boobs hanging out, dress around my waist, and my cow like device dangling at my side. Finally after the 3rd attempt, I successfully pumped my daughter 2 bottles of milk.
Noon
I call my mother-in-law to check on Baby Girl. She's watching her at my house for the first month to help ease the transition into daycare. Everything is going fabulous and everyone is happy. Everyone but me, who is stuck in a cube farm listening to co workers trying to get their accounts to sell more. This is the first time all day I tear up.
1PM
I come back from lunch. I have like the third person who has lost a ton of weight come up to me and ask about Baby Girl. I'm wondering what happened that everyone is suddenly skinny around here. Here I am, formerly a size 2, still wearing maternity clothes (did I mention I gained 90 lbs while pregnant??) and everyone around me has shrunk. That didn't add to already festering bad mood. Anyhow I'm chatting w/ newly skinny sally here, and she asks why I came back to work after only 8 weeks. I tell her because I need this little thing called a paycheck. She looks at me and says "My husband and I sucked it up. I stayed out the entire 12 weeks. It's essential to have that bonding time" She says this like I'm the worst mother on the face of the planet. Excuse me for making a decent salary and contributing to my household income. I want to tell her to suck it. Instead, I smile politely and lie about having a conference call to attend. I hate people.
2PM
Meeting Number 2. Blah blah blah work blah blah blah 2010 job objectives blah blah blah. Damn it, I need to pump again.
3 PM
Now that I know not to recline the chair while pumping, things go much smoother.
4 PM
I made it! The day is over and I get to go home to my sweet peanut!
4:30 PM
WTF is up with these insane drivers?? Ahh, rush hour...I have NOT missed you.
5 PM
I pull in the driveway and anxiously run up to the front door. I have expectations of Baby Girl greeting me with a big "I've missed you all day, Mommy" smile. I envision her reaching her little chubby arms out to me saying "I'm so glad you're home!" I walk in the door and she's all nestled in her grandma's arms. My mother-in-law tells me she hasn't cried all day and has been good all day. She hasn't even spit up once (the spit up has been an issue). I give a big "Hi baby!!" and take her into my arms. She screams bloody murder and proceeds to spit up on me. Then, she begins to root. Great. I spent my entire day near tears missing her and she seems to have only missed my boobs.
Sigh... Oh well. One day down.
No comments:
Post a Comment