It's been a bit rough since I returned to work at the beginning of April. Not only haven't I had much time to blog, I haven't had time to breathe. Sleep is a distant memory, and reading for pleasure is something I might do on the bus from time to time, but for the fact that the buses are always jam packed and I usually end up standing, squished between some stinky rasta dude and a nasty Jean Nate/b.o. smelling lady, so I get to work reeking like a stoned streetwalker.
It's not like I got to ease back into work, either. No part-time, this time. No, ma'am. I hit the ground at warp speed, with two back-to-back labor arbitrations and a disciplinary hearing within my first month back, including one on a Saturday.
Oh, and did I mention that Dylan is teething?
I know that feeling torn between work and home is just a part of every professional mom's life, but man it gets to be a drag sometimes. On Saturday, as I got ready to leave for work, I went into Gabby's room to give her a snuggle and kiss her goodbye.
"We going to the zoo, mommy?" she asked as soon as I walked in the room.
"No, sweetie. Mommy has to go to work today."
"Oh."
Pause.
"I go to work, too. I get my jacket."
[Mommy weeps.]
And then there was my weird dream. I had spent the entire day in labor negotiations, and I was anxious about my upcoming arbitration. Dylan was fussy and so I brought him into bed with me. He proceeded to nurse just about every hour. In my groggy, anxious delirium, I drifted into a dream in which I was negotiating with the Committee of Babies, a union representing infants in their demands for more milk and the freedom to schedule their own naps. I found their demands unreasonable, but no more so than usual. I'm not sure I want to know what that says about my psyche.
