Summer Vacation Comes to an End

It's my last night of my long awaited summer vacation. Ever since I had Toddler almost 2 years ago I have been looking forward to this summer. 

I'm so glad that Past Kicks was looking out for Future Kicks and took a shorter maternity leave to get out of residency a bit earlier. I only had 2.5 weeks to make up at the end of the year this way. There is something sad and lonely about most of your cohort leaving you behind and watching the junior residents step up and fill your roles before you're even gone, and although I love my residency, I was definitely there 2.5 weeks too long.

This summer was glorious. I took about 6 weeks off between jobs. My husband had minimal time off to help with our move, so I was glad I had plenty of time and helpful family members to get settled in our new home in our new smaller community. The weather has been wonderful and Toddler and I settled into a routine with daily adventures to parks, pools, beaches, and libraries. We've spent extended weekends with family and caught up with old friends. I had to remind myself after the first week (in which we went to 3 parks in one day) that this was a time to slow down and relax - after all, we live here now (and hopefully will for a very very very long time) and the parks aren't going anywhere. 

Tomorrow is the day I go back to work - this time as an attending physician in a brand new town in a brand new health system. I thought I would be more nervous, however I've kept myself so busy I haven't had time to be nervous (something I did subconsciously I'm sure). I think I will get more nervous the night before I see my first patients unsupervised without a preceptor for the very first time after the initial orientation wraps up. 

I originally was dreading the return to work, but this weekend has been a little trying between Dog barking at neighbors and Toddler trying out some extra sass, so I do think it is time to see some grown-ups again. I'm sure the initial daycare drop off will be a nightmare (for both of us), but we have gotten over nightmare drop offs before. 

I have one cute story to share from my time off: Toddler and I were out at my parents' favorite local coffee shop when  I learned that Toddler was actually well acquainted with all of the regulars from his times going with my parents. He was handing out fist bumps and babbling along knowingly to several older gentlemen he apparently knew. Toddler then decided (as Toddlers do), he wanted to go out the door and stand on the sidewalk to watch the goings-on outside. I followed. One of the older gentlemen held my coffee so I could follow. Standing outside lasted about 5 seconds before Toddler decided to go back in. The older gentlemen opened the door for me. I tried to explain that he didn't need to help, otherwise he would likely be up and down 10 more times. He slowly shook his head and smiled and looked at Toddler and said "The days are long but the years are short" - which is already exactly how I feel about Toddler, and am lucky to have had these long days to spend together and look back on for years to come. 

Kicks

Mom guilt

It's been way too long since I posted but life! No excuses really except I did get pregnant and had baby girl # 2 (little N).

But this post is about my first baby, little C.

What is it about kids starting elementary school that the divide between a stay at home mom and a working mom become even more apparent?

Little C started first grade last week and from Monday to Wednesday, she goes to the school's after school program. Last year she also went while she was in kindergarten but it was different. Kindergarten was only a half day and a lot of kids even the ones with stay at home mom went to the after school program since kindergarten was only 3 hours. Also, the teachers from the after school programs would walk the kindergarteners over to the area where the program is held on the school campus.

However, first grade is a different story. The kids are expected to grow up suddenly! I had no idea but apparently, little C was told to walk to her after school program once her class got out this Monday. I picked her up after work and she was playing happily when I got there.

When I was putting her to bed that night, she said "Mommy, don't be mad but I got lost while walking over to CEC (the name of the after school program) and I walked around 3-4 times until a teacher asked if I was lost and took me there." She also told me she was the only kid in her class that went to the after school program and that all the other moms are waiting for their kids at the gate after school. My mommy heart sank and tears of guilt just came streaming down as I imagined by 6 year old walking around in the hot sun, lost and confused while every single one of her friends are greeted by their moms. But her reaction to the situation was what killed me. I couldn't believed she thought I would be mad. Do I expect so much from her? She's only 6! And she wasn't at all disturbed by the fact that she was lost and seemed proud that she figured out a solution on how to get there.

I drowned myself in mom guilt this whole week over this situation but today (my day off) as I was walking her to school I asked her if she would prefer if I could do this every day and not have to go to CEC.

She said, "NO MOMMY! I have the best mommy in the whole wide world and I tell everyone that my mommy is busy helping other people and my daddy is busy helping other people and thats why I need to go to CEC. I want to be just like you mommy--a mommy and a doctor."

She killed me again. How are you only 6, my little C? Your insight and understanding is something I don't deserve.

I am so blessed to be your mom, kid.

She continues to do this every single day. I always thought there would be so many things to teach my kids but turns out they teach me something new every day.

So mom guilt, it never ends but every once in awhile, your kids remind you that you're doing a great job and everything is okay.

True confessions

Last summer, during the final weeks of a high-risk pregnancy, I was on bedrest. It wasn’t your run of the mill work-from-home bedrest, or even the stay-in-bed-at-home-and-go-downstairs-once-a-day bedrest. It was closely monitored bedrest, in the hospital, for an entire month. It was the kind of bedrest where I couldn’t venture out of the antepartum unit without the company of another adult, lest I suddenly decompensate in the elevator. The kind of bedrest where I had to shower and wash my hair one-handed, to protect the IV that was required to stay in my arm at all times, just in case. That kind of bedrest.

It was awful. I worried about the outcome of my pregnancy, of my baby, of my own health. I had to take an unanticipated extra month off from work. I was bored out of my mind. Every time a well-meaning relative or friend would call and ask, “so what did you do today?” I wanted to throw my phone across the room. But worst of all, I painfully, painfully missed my children. Sure, they came to visit. My amazing husband loaded the kids into the minivan and brought them to the hospital a few times a week. But the visits were pressured, and weird, and always shorter than planned.

I missed end-of-the-year celebrations and the first day of camp. I even missed my son’s third birthday party. But it was the in-between time that I missed the most: a funny comment at dinner that caused bursts of laughter, an unexpected helping hand with a bag of groceries, a hug that seemed to come out of nowhere. Helping my daughter pick out her clothes, kissing a boo-boo, sharing a mango.  My husband texted me a picture of my son post-bath and I cried; I had forgotten what he looked like with his hair wet.  It was, hands down, one of the most challenging times of my life.

And yet. Sometimes, deep down, I long for the quiet alone time in the hospital, when I had no responsibilities other than trying to keep myself healthy and sane. Now, when I am being pulled by call schedules and challenging patients and medical students and academic responsibilities, and being tugged by my children who just pooped and forgot their homework and are crawling in the blueberries that they earlier threw on the floor and he took my crayon! and she’s singing the song wrong! and we’re huuuuungry can we have a snaaaaack even though they just.ate.dinner. and they’re fighting and they’re whining and the house is a mess and the resident just texted me … sometimes, deep down, I wish I could find a portal, slip inside, and crawl back into that warm cocoon of the antepartum wing, where people were paid to fluff my pillow and clean my floor and bring me ice water, and to care how I was feeling. Where they would sing to my unborn baby while trying to find her on the monitor and we would chat about the weather and I was bored out of my mind doing crossword puzzles while The Office was on in the background. I am a year out from that experience, and beyond grateful that despite a high-risk pregnancy and complicated preterm delivery, both I and my baby girl are doing well. I am so thankful for my full and beautiful family, for my rewarding career. But sometimes, just sometimes, late at night when my kids are finally sleeping and my husband is softly snoring beside me, when I lie awake thinking of all the things that need to be planned and done at work and at home, I yearn for a bit of calm and quiet. Just for a moment…