Why-yi-yi OH WHY
Sadie loves it when you sing to her. Specifically, when you sing, dance, and generally make an ass of yourself. She gets still, focuses on your face, and will eventually nod off if she’s even remotely close to naptime or bedtime. I’ve decided she either really enjoys music, or is trying to figure out why in the world she was saddled with this spastic freakshow of a mother, and falls asleep to escape it all.
Oh Sadie, this is merely the BEGINNING of your embarrassment.
She doesn’t necessarily show a preference for any particular kind of music (although I’ve noticed that the louder and more uptempo songs put her to sleep fastest – I’m chalking this up to all of that loud-ass go-go music she heard in utero), so the songs I sing to her run the gamut from musical soundtracks to TV theme songs to easy listening.
Fuck Baby Einstein: Jim Croce will make your child a damn GENIUS, and that’s a fact.
My favorite songs to sing, however, are ones in which you can easily replace “baby” with “Sadie,” making for a nice, personalized touch. Another favorite is the song “Sandy” from Grease (substituting “Sadie” for “Sandy,” natch). It’s short, it’s fun, it features a spoken word section, it’s pretty much the only exposure I ever want my child to have to John Travolta’s crazy, bloated, Scientology-believin’ ass. And so I’ve spent many happy times singing this song while bouncing Sadie on my lap.
But. You know how there are events and situations that tend to color every last corner of your day-to-day life? You fall in love, and suddenly things look ten times more beautiful than before. You have a pregnancy scare (or difficulty conceiving), and suddenly you’re tripping over strollers and infants everywhere you go. Or – to pull another example out of the air – you’re about to return full-time to the workplace after an awesome and wonderful 12-week maternity leave, and suddenly everything is SO FUCKING POIGNANT AND SAD. I think you see where I’m headed with this.
Honestly, with the occasional outburst of tears aside, I think I’ve handled returning to work rather well. As I said to Brad the other day, I’m not so much sad about going back, I’m sad about the fact that my leave – my magical leave that I looked forward to for so long, and that lived up to all of my expectations – is over. It’s another reminder that time is marching forward, and that my little baby is growing up. I’m so thankful I was able to be there when she was so tiny and needy and new, and while it’s not like she’s going to be applying for college anytime soon, the first wobbly three months of her life have completely flown past us.
Three months closer to being TOTALLY MORTIFIED by pictures like this, OMG MOM.
But, Internet, there are times. Times when – despite my best efforts – I hear an ugly voice in my head telling me that I’m selfish to return to work, that if I really loved my baby I’d make the huge life changes required for me to stay at home, that I shouldn’t have had a baby in the first place if I always knew that I’d eventually have to leave her in the care of virtual strangers.
I hate that bitch whore voice, don’t you?
And then there are the moments that totally sneak up on me. When I’ll be playing with Sadie, happy as can be, and she’ll melt me with another one of her huge, gummy smiles, and I just lose it. What in the world could be more important than doing whatever I can to be with that face as much as humanly possible?
But I’ve gone through this thought process hundreds – no, thousands – of times. If we want to keep our house, I need to work. If we want to save money for Sadie’s future, I need to work. If I want to keep my skills remotely current, I need to work. And as I’ve mentioned here before, I want to work. My job pays decently, I’m very close to home and I have pretty sweet benefits. I’d be kind of FUCKING STUPID to throw my job away in this economy. And when I remind myself of these things, I really, honestly do feel that I’m doing the right thing by being a working mom.
Unfortunately, this doesn’t make me immune to those unusually-poignant and sad moments I’ve had lately. Like the other day as I was singing “Sandy/Sadie” to the little peanut, and I heard one of the verses through my going-back-to-work filter:
“Made a start, now we’re apart…there’s nothing left for me.”
Also: DAMN YOU, John Travolta!
But I’m here, Internet. I’m back at work, and I’m totally OK. I didn’t cry when I whispered goodbye to her this morning as she slept in her crib (yes, she was still asleep at 8am this morning, unlike EVERY OTHER DAMN MORNING OVER THE WEEKEND when she had us up at 5:40 changing diapers and trying to figure out a way to mainline coffee into our brains), I didn’t cry on the drive here, and I haven’t cried (much) at my desk. Of course, it helps to know that she’s at home with the best damn Daddy in the world.
My heart just fucking exploded.
Brad has saved up enough vacation to stay at home with her for the next 5 weeks, and then: the “D” word.
Daycare, not donuts. But I’d rather think about donuts, wouldn’t you?
In other news, Internet, I have something very sad to share: Rodger passed away last week. Wait, scratch that. Yes, he died, but it’s not sad. He passed very peacefully, while surrounded by beloved friends. He’s finally without the pain and cancer that crippled him for so long. He made a positive mark on the lives of so many people, and if all of those things aren’t happy things in your book, well…
Here you go. This should help. But I’m warning you, I am about to eat my monitor.
So here’s to remembering the positive – both in my return to work and in the loss of a friend. And speaking of remembering, I’m going to try to remember to, uh, POST TO MY BLOG more often, as I very much enjoy (and need) an outlet for my excessive profanity. I’m trying very hard to ensure that my daughter’s first words aren’t “fucking douchebag,” you see.
“Effing douchebag” will be perfectly acceptable.