Going back to work after The Poo was born was very, very hard.
I left her in the care of my mother; nonetheless, the pain of that first real physical separation was tremendous. Coming right on the heels of my dad’s death, it nearly broke me.
It took me almost an hour to say goodbye, and when I finally fled I was barely able to drive, blinded by my tears. That cubicle never looked so bleak or so stupid. A job I already viewed with contempt (except on payday) forced me to leave behind that tender bundle whose eyes were just beginning to focus on me.
It wasn’t long before I requested an extended leave of absence. After two additional months of hemming and hawing, and using up every last minute of my paid vacation time, I resigned.
The next two years were pretty much perfect. Me and The Poo, rising early, doing chores, taking trips, running errands, playing with friends … exactly what I hoped for when I bid goodbye to that boring job, into which I was stuffed like a left foot in a right shoe.
Recently, a chance email led to my first professional journalism assignment in many, many years. Granted, it was pretty soft-shoe stuff - no Pulitzer potential here - but it felt very grown up. I wrote, they paid me. And for once, I felt like it was a fair trade. Good work for good money.
Not that the marketing gigs I take here and there aren’t valid work. But it isn’t work that sets me on fire. Not like this did.
The Poo is a big girl now, almost 2.5 years old. She is learning to use the potty, eats politely (if reluctantly) with a fork, gets in and out of the bath without assistance, and employs such adjectives as “refreshing” and “enormous.” In the fall, she is going to pre-school, where, for the first time, someone else besides me or her father will guide her.
And much to my surprise, I think I am going to work. At home, of course, and on projects of my choosing, but I will work nonetheless. We need the money, but it’s more than that. It is something my mother said to me on the phone when I told her about my recent freelance job.
“You’re finally reaching your potential,” she said.
Maybe, just maybe, she is right.
[tags]parenting, kids, children, growing up, work, home, growth, reaching your potential[/tags]
Photo graciously provided by mj*laflaca, through a Creative Commons license, some rights reserved
7 responses so far ↓
Slouching Mom // Jun 19, 2007 at 6:22 am
Hmm… This sounds very familiar to me, as I look toward September and note that both my kids will be, for the first time, in school from 9 to 3.
It’s a strange feeling. It’s been a long time for me. I hope I know what to do with myself.
Good on you. May more of those inspiring assignments come along.
Bethany // Jun 20, 2007 at 8:23 am
hey! In my eyes you already have reached your potential! I mean *knowing* you had a hard time working after Poo was born and then being able to take action? That is even more brave then going *back* to work.
Maybe it is just me….
Jennifer // Jun 20, 2007 at 9:56 am
Yay! Good for you.
carrie // Jun 20, 2007 at 2:12 pm
Whoot whoot. I think it’s a nice feeling when you are to that place where you know what you want, and are ready, really ready to pursue it!
Christina // Jun 20, 2007 at 3:36 pm
I know how you feel. It was leaving Cordy behind that triggered me to quit my well-paying full time job for a part-time one. And now that Mira is here, there’s a strong possibility that I won’t be going back at all, because we can’t afford daycare for two. Which means I have to start looking for more at-home work.
Selfmademom // Jun 20, 2007 at 6:33 pm
Hey- good luck! I know what it’s like to go back to work and you can only do it when and if you are really ready. Hope it works out for you.
Leeanthro // Jun 20, 2007 at 7:49 pm
I’m on maternity leave right now, so I may have a different perspective than I might say at another time in my life.
As a woman with a grad degree and a feminist, you would think that I am reaching my potential by working in my field.
But somehow I feel empty when at work and wonder why its important. Who cares about 2,000 year old plants, anyway?
And I sometimes think that I am “reaching my potential” when my child says something creative and fantastic. Or the last few days when my little infant started flashing smiles.
Yes, paid work is fulfilling, but there are many ways to reach your potential.
Sometimes I feel like I only work so that my children have healthcare, so that I have retirement money, and so I can send them to college. I feel like a mouse on a wheel.
I never thought in all my women’s studies classes or feminist thinking that I would have made comments like this!
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