I went back to work today. It went a little something like this:
10pm: Put M down for the night. The past week and half she's slept two four-hour shifts like clockwork. Not tonight. Oh no. Tonight she is up every hour and a half to eat. I am not a good sleeper, so it takes me a while to fall back to sleep each time. All in all I get about two or three hours of sleep.
7:30am: After a restless night for him as well, my husband oversleeps his alarm and rushes around like a madman trying to get himself ready for work. M wakes up, eats, and then decides she's awake for the day. We talk and play for a while.
8:30am: I start getting stuff together. I'm only working part-time for the next few weeks, so I don't have to be in until noon,but I want to get off to a good start. I double-check the bag with the stuff we'll leave at daycare (clothes, diapers, wipes), the diaper bag, and my pumping bag. I also have to carry my work bag. I'm the bag lady.
10:00am: I start to freak out because I can't get the daycare to answer the phone. I want to make sure that the last bit of paperwork they needed got faxed okay. They didn't answer the phone yesterday, either. I start to worry about what kind of business doesn't answer the phone. I call frantically every 15 minutes, each time getting more and more convinced that I'd chosen some sort of mob front for a daycare. Then I tell myself that surely a mob front would have to have someone answer the phones in order to work. Then I think, "Great, I've picked a mob front that's run by incompetent mobsters for a daycare!"
10:45am: The time that I had chosen to leave the house. I'm packed up. I've put two of my multiple bags in the car, and this child will not go in the car seat. We have never had this problem before, but today as soon as I sat her down she was screaming. Not crying. Not fussing. Screaming. Face red. Can't breathe. That kind of screaming. I pick her up, she calms down. I try again. Same thing. The clock is ticking, and I'm losing it. I call my husband, crying. "I don't know what to do!" He asks if I want him to come home. Of course I don't. That's just silly. He's 45 minutes away. But what did I think calling him was going to accomplish? She finally subsides to just normal cries, and I take her to the car. It's 11:05. She falls asleep before I even get into the driver's seat.
11:15am: Daycare drop-off is pretty uneventful. They're really nice to me. The phone line is being repaired, they tell me, and they give me an alternate number to reach them. Maybe they're not a mob front. I try to leave pretty quickly because I feel myself tearing up. I say goodbye and walk out. I only cried a little, and I had stopped by the time I parked the car. I call it success.
11:45am: I get to work. The day is packed. I have to catch up on emails, tell students the schedule for the program I coordinate, and teach two classes. The classes are awesome. I feel completely on my game.
5:00pm: Since it was the first day of classes, I let the students go a little early and rush to pick up M. She's awake and happy. She did, however, eat all of her food. I sent 8 ounces, and she was only there 6 hours. I'm a little worried I won't be able to pump enough. I only pumped 5 ounces while I was at work, and that was in two separate pumping sessions.
Overall, the morning started out horrendous. I was a mess and I felt completely discombobulated. By the time I got to work, though, I was back into a groove I felt comfortable with. Aside from the pumping, which was a little tricky, but doable, I was completely at ease. This gives me hope that as soon as I get down a good morning routine, the whole thing will feel much more manageable. We'll be trying again tomorrow for a 9am-noon work shift. Wish me luck!