One week from today, I will be back at work.
If it weren't for this fact constantly in the back of my mind now, I would feel like a total waste of life. Yesterday, I didn't do a damn thing except cuddle with G until 3 o'clock. At 8 a.m., I made a list of all the things I could (and should) accomplish but when Gray went into his morning smiley playtime, I just scooped him up and we cuddled, ate, and cuddled some more. Didn't even watch TV. When he napped, I made a hot cup of chai, picked up the book I'm reading for a little bit, caught up on all of my favorite blogs, looked at my to-do list again, and cuddled G a little more before I finally decided to get cracking. I mean, really... I did that for, what?, seven hours?! And while I would normally feel bad about my lack of accomplishment, I actually felt more accomplished because I was actually taking advantage of my time with him instead of worrying about "doing" so much. I know I will still have weekends and week nights to love on him but there are still 50-60 hours a week I'll be missing because of work + planning + ripping my hair out + commuting. I am so dreading that first day back. Yesterday, on our diaper/wipes/bottle run to Target I bought a few more Kleenex travel packs and stashed them in my console, preparing for the major alligator tears that will be happening on my morning drive.
Do you think he's sad, too?