“So I was thinking I could bring her on Wednesday afternoon, Thursday morning, and all day Friday. Would that work? Is that enough?” I clutched the baby to my chest and looked at Kathleen, willing her to tell me that I didn’t need to bring Little L for test runs this week. She looked amused as she told me that it sounded fine. I hinted that maybe it would be enough for her to just start full time next week, but she murmured that they needed to get to know her, that she was worried about how the baby was going to adjust.
I’m not worried about the baby. I don’t even think that she needs an adjustment period, (honestly, not selfishly) she loves the people at the daycare; she beams at everyone the entire time we’re there for pick up or drop off. She’s going to be just fine.
I am worried about me. Work is one thing, but I just can’t think about that now. Right now, I’m worried about our nursing relationship coming to an end. It was so tough at first, I struggled with the act, I struggled with the notion, and in the end I tricked myself into not stopping. Today nursing is the easy way for us. I no longer worry about making enough milk. I no longer agonize about nursing in public. It’s just right. And it’s probably going to end next week.
At the office there’s no pumping room. There’s nowhere other than a bathroom. There are no spare offices. There are no spare supply closets. There’s just a bathroom. Part of my job is answering phones; it’s going to be hard being away from my desk for long stretches of time multiple times a day. At the end of the day there’s going to be Little L, and there’s going to be C, and it’s going to be brutal trying to balance reconnecting with everyone while nursing the baby and getting dinner ready. I fully intend to nurse whenever I can, and pump whenever possible, but I know that work is going sound the death toll of our nursing streak, and it makes me want to scream and cry. It’s so unfair that it should end just as it was getting easy.
Sometimes being a grown-up just sucks. I want to throw a tantrum. I want to let myself fall in a heap and cry and kick until someone lets me get my way. I want to scream. I want to hold my breath until I win. But deep inside I know it’s not worth it. The rational part of my brain knows that come Tuesday morning I’m going to drop off my daughters and head to work, where I’ll do my job and pump when I can, and no amount of tantrum or tears is going to change that. A tantrum would just be a waste of energy.
On a completely different note. Have you heard of cre8buzz? Do you want to join? Let me know. I have a ton of invitations to hand out!