The Day I Knew Would Come

Liam and I visit his day care center tomorrow. Thursday, I drop him off and go to school to bring the last of my school supplies there before Monday. Monday I drop Liam off for my first day of school. I have no worries about Liam. He is so social, friendly, and playful. He loves to explore and interact. His bag of supplies is packed and his clothes are all labeled "LD."

These days are dwindling:


I keep saying I am ready to go back. But, like every other event that has happened this summer, I am saying what I feel I am supposed to say. When my basement flooded, I lost "things:" my junior high school year books, my journal I kept throughout my pregnancy, the last Christmas card my grandmother sent me fourteen years ago, lesson plans, books. Other people lost their homes. Who am I to complain? But as I began to regroup the basement and collect my school supplies, I realize how much these "things" meant to me. I have no right to complain, but I really want to anyway. I am supposed to say I am relieved that Mom is not suffering anymore but I miss her. It sucks that I will never get to call her and tell her about Liam's tooth or how much he loves avocado. She won't be able to tell me everything will be fine when I drop Liam off Monday morning.

The bulk of my problem lies in being a control freak. I have to control every situation and not appear weak. If I had to have a pregnancy complication, diabetes was a great one for me because I could so research and control it. I never complained about carpel tunnel so bad that Mike washed my hair for me. When Braxton Hicks decided to wake (and keep) me up at 2am, I still went to work. I endured eighteen hours of labor without a single tear or cry. God forbid I appear weak.

Thinking about the events of the past few months. I put on such a front that I guess people believe I am as strong as I pretend to be. It sucks and I don't know how to admit to others that I do sometimes need help and support.

I guess what I am getting at is that I have barely been able to juggle everything these last seven months and I have not even been working. Going back to work does not scare me. I've been teaching for six years. Mike keeps telling me that it does not matter if laundry gets backed up or the house looks less than perfect. What scares me is feeling the need to keep up pretending I have it all figured out.