Today is October 1st. In just a few short months, my son will turn a year old, and I will return to work. I've heard it said that many women look forward to returning to work, to more "adult time" and "adult conversation". It's funny, I don't feel that way at all. Every day is like an inescapable step towards a destination I don't want to reach. I feel like I am slowly but surely being pushed in the tide towards a distant, unfriendly shore, and I am powerless to escape it. Ok...enough with cliches, but really, I don't want to leave Sam and go back to work.
The thought of leaving my son in the care of another person wrenches my heart. I love him. And I want to be with him when he learns to walk, when he speaks his first word; when he falls and scrapes his knee, I want to be the one who scoops him up and kisses him all better. Going back to work means I might miss some of those moments. And friends keep telling me, "oh, it will be good for him. It will help teach him social skills with other children." I guess that's true, but it doesn't stop the aching feeling in my heart.
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