I realized (in the middle of the night last night, of course) that I will be returning to work a month from today. A month is a really long time, technically, so it’s not like I have to start getting up at 5:45 AM tomorrow. I have a few weeks before I need to start doing that. But still, when you start with twelve weeks off from work and suddenly you’re down to four weeks off, it’s a little jarring.
The best metaphor I can think of is that maternity leave is like a really long vacation where your wallet gets stolen on the second day. You spend the first couple of weeks freaking the fuck out and wondering what you are going to do about it. You have to scramble to get everything replaced before someone steals your identity. You have no money, no credit cards, no ID, so you are losing sleep and the stress is killing you. Then everything gets resolved, and you start to have some fun. You see the sights and get active and do a bunch of cool stuff. After about seven weeks, you get lazy and start spending long hours sitting in your hotel room, happy to be on vacation but kind of bored with your surroundings.
And that is where I’m at. I’m happy to be on leave, but I’ve noticed a steady decline in how much I am able to get done lately. A couple of weeks ago, I’d spend the morning cleaning the house or cooking something interesting while Tim kept an eye on the baby (i.e., she was asleep in his office while he worked). Tim still keeps an eye on the baby in the mornings, but I don’t get anything done. I have cooked some good meals, though. Hopefully, I will get some kind of second wind or whatever during my last four weeks, because there’s a lot I’d really like to get done around here before I go back to work. I am convinced that my house will start looking like something out of Hoarders after I go back to work if I don’t get it cleaned now.
My big accomplishment today (thus far) is that I went to the grocery store. I think Tuesday must be markdown day at the grocery store, because I picked up a bunch of sale stuff to throw in the freezer for later. I also picked up some beer that had been marked down. Our local store carries a pretty decent selection of craft beer, and they recently started carrying beer from Flossmoor Station. As a native of the southern suburbs (but not Flossmoor), I wanted to try it, even though my opinion of Flossmoor Station was somewhat tarnished by a complete nutsack who was on the Three Floyds brewery tour with Tim and I last year. He kept going on and on about how he had just finished going on the tour of Flossmoor Station and how he tasted their newest beer and blah blah blah…while he was on the Three Floyds tour. Admittedly, Flossmoor Station Nutsack wasn’t as annoying as the father who brought his hyperactive four-year-old on the brewery tour and expected everyone to find his antics completely adorable, but still…ANNOYING.
I may be a parent now, but my attitude toward poorly behaved children hasn’t changed very much. I told Lenora that she can move into a cave and be raised by wolves if she wants to act like an ass in public. (Perhaps “move into a barn and be raised by donkeys” would be more appropriate.)