My maternity leave is coming to an end and I’m freaking out.
I love my job. Like, love my job. For eight-plus years I have worked 60+ hour weeks and still been excited to go back every day (well, except for a rough stint in late 2018 but that’s a story for another day). I have had the privilege of growing with a company I believe in and getting to build a team that I believe in even more. I rarely take vacations and my coworkers tease me about being online on my days off. I always knew, though, that there was one thing that would make me take a step back – one thing to slow me down just enough to make all the whirlwind leading up mean something a little extra. I always planned to be a mom and knew I would take a significant maternity leave. What I wasn’t prepared for was how emotional I would get about getting ready to go back to work.
Let me first say, I am (as in so many other ways) lucky and privileged with regard to maternity leave. My state has an amazing leave program, as does my company. My husband’s job has been only somewhat affected by COVID (due both to luck and to the good reputation he has built for himself). These have afforded me the opportunity to take almost five months of leave, for which I am eternally grateful. Spending this time with my baby girl, learning how to be a mom and resetting so many of my own habits and goals has been more important than I could have imagined. We all joked that I was going to go crazy at home without work, and I was genuinely surprised when that wasn’t the case. I will say, though, that having grown-up work-related conversations (the few occasions they’ve come up) has definitely felt good, which is heartening. I’m in my last month of leave now, and while I have always had my return to work on the back of my mind, these days it’s more often, if not a sign directly in front of my face, at least a flashing billboard in my peripheral vision.
The anxiety surrounding returning to work hit hard just before Thanksgiving. In August, preparing to go out on leave, the holidays seemed distant – an eternity away from where I was then. Time moves so fast, though, and it seems to be speeding up more and more as the days go on. Thanksgiving always signals the beginning of the end of the year for me, and as lame as 2020 has been in a lot of ways (baby E’s arrival being a big asterisk), I am not quite sure I’m ready for it to end. I had a hard time locating the root cause of my anxiety, however. As I said, I love my job. I am not sad about going back to it. While getting paid to be a mom is lovely, it can’t go on forever – though that would be sweet. I spent a fair amount of time trying to figure out exactly what about going back to work was making me so scared. Then, it hit me: I had to realize that going back to work did not mean that I had to give back my baby.
I know that this might sound totally ridiculous. Of course I don’t have to give back the baby, what a stupid thing to say. But here’s the thing: me working has never involved me being a parent. I worked (albeit increasingly pregnant for the last several months) and then I was a mom. The two are separated in my brain. So, my anxiety is telling me that they’re binary options – my picture of what I know of me at work does not already include my baby. I know this isn’t accurate, and I’m confident that I will be just as strong of a parent whilst working as I have been at home, but still – it’s hard. I remind myself often – “You don’t have to give her back. You get to keep her,” and I cry. Writing this, I am crying. (Fun fact, I rarely cried before giving birth, and almost never while I was pregnant. I’m pretty much the biggest sap ever at this point. Thanks, hormones!)
I think the tears are equal parts joy, relief, and worry: I am so thankful to have this kid, after wanting for her for so long. I am nervous to navigate the new frontier of daycare, babysitting, pumping at work and trying to make sure that I get home on time (something at which I have historically been The Worst). I have already decided that we have to delay daycare for at least a week because there’s just no way I can emotionally handle dropping her off with strangers (qualified, caring strangers, but still) and going back to work on the same day. I would become an actual puddle of emotions in my car in the daycare parking lot and not make it any further, I’m sure. To be honest, that might still happen but at least it won’t be on my very first day back.
I am going to come out of leave more organized (which is a little terrifying), more creative, and more determined than I went into it. I truly believe that my experience as a parent will only strengthen my abilities as a manager (luckily, my boss shares the same philosophy). I am excited to put all of this into practice, and I’m so incredibly proud of the team that has been running the show while I’ve been out. I look forward to getting back to work and to building a new routine. I love picturing Rick picking the baby up every day and taking her home to play until I arrive. Most of all, I can’t wait for hugs and kisses and snuggles when I walk in the door in the evening, just like I used to give my dad when he got home.
I know that there will be nights that are not so happy, when any one (or more…) of us is cranky or sick or I am home late or something else I haven’t thought of yet goes wrong. I still have a few weeks to worry about all the things that could possibly happen, never fear. In the meantime, though, I am going to do my absolute best to make the days last as long as I can and to make sure that I’m making them count, but not treating them as The End. This isn’t the end, after all. I’ve got this kid for keeps, and we’re only just getting started.
Hickmans at Home 