There are two main trains of thought milling about my head right now. One is that I need to go back to the office. Need to. Need some adult interaction, a change of environment, and a better defined routine. Need it.
The other is that I have a new goal that I need to explore and fully define, but it’s a goal, nonetheless, and it’s important. I’m sure it’s a repeat goal that I’ve attempted before, and abandoned, but it’s time for a resurrection.
There. About the office. I don’t recall feeling this caged the last time I was telecommuting full time. Maybe it has something to do with the time of year. BB was born in January, so spring was springing when I was returning to work. There was more sunshine, there were flowers blooming, there were afternoon walks. LB was born at the end of August, and we’re fast forwarding past autumn and into winter. There is rain, and more rain, and wind and more rain. The sky is darkening by 4 p.m. Did I mention the rain? There are no lovely afternoon walks, unless mad dashes through Costco and Fred Meyer count. I’m only working three days a week, taking Tuesdays and Thursdays as vacation days so I can catch up on the sleep I missed while working Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays. Having over 20 years under my belt has its advantages. I get 4 weeks of paid vacation a year, and I can roll a full year over, so I’ve banked 8 weeks that I’m using now, and I can spread it out for quite some time. I think I can work 3 days a week until April, in fact, and still get paid for full time. Woot!
But something is different and I’m feeling house-bound. Stir crazy. I don’t necessarily get more work done at the office, but it sure is nice to see people, and, dare I say it, social anxiety or not, be seen. I miss my peeps. Over twenty years with some of these people make them family. We’ve spent the better part of our lives together. I miss that. I miss them. I actually brought up the mother’s room calendar today, to see how many people were using it, and if I could fit my pumping schedule in. A couple of the women have dropped out, and there’s a new one, but it looks like there is room for me. Do I want to drag my pumping gear around with me?
And then there’s the pang, big time, I feel when considering sending LB off to daycare earlier than later. He’s only a baby for such a short short time, and what kind of a person am I to send him off when I actually could keep him with me for a little while longer. As long as he’s not interfering with my work, it’s reasonable to allow him to stay, and since he’s still sleeping through most of my working hours, it’s okay. So if he’s sleeping, does it matter that he sleeps at my house or at the daycare? I think I’ll consider starting him at daycare in January, after the bustle of the holidays is over. He’ll be a little over 4 months old.
Sigh.
Did I mention that I Googled child care rates across the country and found that I’m fortunate enough to live in one of the more expensive states? I wonder if that means our per capita earnings are accordingly higher? Right. I doubt it. Anyhow, I’ll be getting a blazing steal of a bargain at $300/week for the two kids. It’s way under the average, so I shouldn’t complain.
And now for the other item. My goal. I need to get to know myself better, get over myself, and fall in love with myself, if any of that makes sense. Get over myself, because I get wrapped up in the same patterns and thoughts and depressions and cycles, over and over and over again. It’s getting old. I’m getting old. And fall in love with myself, so that I can honor myself and accept myself and be comfortable with myself, and just cut myself some slack. Walk the talk, so to speak. Not have ridiculous expectations that can’t be met. Relax a little, alright, already. No conditions. That’s the goal. Unconditional love. For my self. I have no idea how to get there, but there it is. That’s my goal.
I think that unconditional love will wash away a lot of stress and anxiety. And guilt.
