My birthday was on August 8. The day is marked with a bittersweet aftertaste. Ever since I was little, the passing of my birthday meant that summer would soon be over. Thanks for the cake, now I guess we can go back-to-school shopping.
I’m confronting a similar reality check this year. In a matter of four’ish months, my maternity leave will end. I’ll return to an intense, consuming, 9 to whenever job, and face my next great motherhood challenge – balance. I keep reminding myself to not take the seeming minutia of my every day for granted: the lackadaisical way I enter Ethan’s room when he wakes up in the morning – there’s no stress, we have nowhere to be any time soon; the freedom I have to snuggle with Ethan at any moment – you look too cute right, I must now spend the next 15 mins pressing your face next to mine; the ability to indulge in our breastfeeding sessions – you can go for as long as you want, take as many breaks, I’m just going to be right here for you.
Time.
What a luxury it’s been to have time. Time to learn, time to grow, time to discover, time to watch, time to play, and time to truly love.
I’m going to miss every. single. second.
If it’s somewhere down the road, and I’m my future self who somehow found the courage to have another baby, and you’re re-reading this post: Soak it in – the good, the bad, the horrifying, the depressing and the unparalleled elation. It flies by and before you know it, you’ll be back in your cubicle writing emails that start with, “I wanted to follow up on…”
But before that happens, I’m going to return to this guy, who’s looking the way I feel about going back to work.
