Years ago, I heard my sister tell her then 2-year-old son that she was 'so excited' to go to work. I questioned her motive behind that statement, as I knew she would rather spend time with him.
"I don't want him to think I would ever leave him to do something I don't like," she said. "If he believes I love going to the hospital, it won't hurt him as much when I walk out the door."
Now that I, too, am a mother, I see the logic in her little white lie.
A few days ago, Son was quite upset when I left him at preschool to go across the street to my own hospital. I stooped down so I was at his level and explained to him that going to work was fun for mommy, that sometimes I need to have fun like he needs to have fun.
Today, we are staying home. I told Son our plan to meet our friends (a nurse I work with and her son, who is in Son's preschool class) for a picnic in the park. I suggested it would be fun for us both.
"No, Mama," he said sternly. "You go to work to have fun," he explained. "The park is not fun for you."
Sigh.
I guess I need to rethink that line.
Just another example of how our words come back to bite us when we least expect it (like the expletive-not-quite-deleted that escapes us in the car and then gets regurgitated by a young one at the dinner table when the in-laws are over)!
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