Time, Part I

Some time around the beginning of my last trimester of pregnancy I stopped wearing a watch. It was just too damned uncomfortable and it left marks on my swollen wrists. Immediately after the baby was born, I didn't bother wearing a watch because at any given moment I had no idea if it was even day or night and I really didn't give a shit. I wasn't wearing deodorant, never mind a watch.

Gabby's four months old now. We keep a pretty full schedule of activities. We go to events, see friends, attend classes. But I still have not resumed wearing a watch.

They say that when your child is small, the hours go slow and the months go fast. I feel like it's all going fast. Each day begins with these beautiful big eyes looking at me and smiling, and then all of a sudden it's evening and those lovely eyes are closing.

With my return to work looming (well, it feels like it's looming, although it's still more than a month away), I'm starting to figure out why the watch has languished for so long at the bottom of a drawer: I like being in this little bubble, just me and my family and those other folks I choose to see, doing whatever we please. I dread returning to a regimented life, a life where I have to consult my calendar constantly and account for my day in fifteen minute increments. I dread the feeling of not having enough hours in the day, of constantly being late for things because I try to cram too much into every last minute.

Of course, these musings bring up a lot of stuff about being a working mom, finding a balance between work and home, wondering whether I'll have any time for myself, and not wanting to miss a second of Gabby's childhood. I'm sure I'll be writing more about these things soon.

Ironically enough, I've been working on this post since March because I haven't had the time to pull my thoughts together in a coherent way. I think I'll just call it "Part I" and leave it at that.

In the meanwhile, I'll continue to float along watchless, thankyouverymuch, in my little bubble with my baby.