So, this week I started my part-time job. I haven't mentioned it much because I think part of me felt like maybe if I didn't talk about that it wouldn't happen. Or that I wasn't going to actually do it so I didn't want to mention it and then have to be like "oh nevermind. I'm not really going to start working again." Even as I type this I feel like maybe somehow this part-time gig isn't going to last. Like something will fall into place. That my husband will get an extravagant raise or our etsy shops will suddenly start bringing in twice as much money each month. I guess it's kind of my survival mechanism. Take it day by day, pretend things are going to change soon.
I know, I'm sounding a bit dramatic. It's only 18 hours per week (and a seasonal position so it's only till February or March...so I really do have an end in sight).
What's funny is that I thought I was thankful for my stay-at-home-mom life before. When we finally decided I needed to find some part time work, In my head I would think "God, if you're trying to teach me to be thankful for what I have, it isn't necessary...I KNOW I'm lucky or blessed or whatever you want to call it. I know I have it damn good" (it's ok to say swear words to God). But you know what? After the past 3 days of working 5-11 each evening, I am even more grateful for tonight, when I will be home when my husband gets home from work. When I get to cook a nice meal and sit at the table and eat with my family. When I get to clean up dishes afterwards and listen to Andrew play with Lyla in the living room. Spending time away makes my good life seem even better.
Admittedly I was annoyed when everyone was trying to console me with 'it'll get better' and 'it'll be ok.' I didn't want it to get better. I didn't want it to be ok. I wanted to fail. I wanted to refuse to go. But I got my good cry out that first day when I left Lyla. The next day I got a bit teary when she hugged my neck as I was leaving (ahhh....I know, right?!) and the third day there were no tears. I survived.
Andrew got Lyla to sleep on his own all three days (no boob necessary!). I'm hoping this is the start of some sort of sleep training. Though I must admit, I will not give up curling up beside Lyla in bed when I get home from a six hour shift (it's hard enough not squeeze her and smother her in kisses).