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Back to Work

I'm calling this blog "Raising Pumpkin" because Aaron calls our little girl Pumpkin Head. I started this blog for several reasons, one of which is to keep my mother-in-law up-to-date since she lives 1000 miles away. Another is that as I came into the office this morning near tears and frazzled, one of the ladies said my woes gave her chills and that I needed to keep a journal to remember all these things that I would laugh about one day. This is that journal. I hope it can be both an outlet for me as a mother/wife/daughter/sister/friend/lawyer and also bring some comic relief to these days when I just want to scream.

So this was my first week back to work...and even though it was a short week, oh how long it felt. Day one was met with tears and nausea as I dropped Pumpkin off at her first of school. I was so worried that she would wake up and not know where she was. Aaron assured me that it wouldn't matter because she never knew where she was. So much for comfort.

On the first day I was glued to the webcam until lunch when I went to the daycare to see her and let her know that mom was thinking about her. She was calm and content when I walked in. I picked her up. I love and kiss on her, oblivious (or at least ignoring) to the fact that she is no longer content. She's groany and squirmy and fussy. I put her back down and she fell asleep. Guess she didn't miss me as much as I missed her.

Day two was easier, although she was not sleeping well at home. Guess all the knowledge she was gaining at school was keeping her up nights.

Finally Friday arrived. Pumpkin actually slept pretty well Thursday night and I was looking forward to the last day at the office for the week. I got ready for work and dressed Pumpkin. When I picked her up to leave, she spit up all over both of us. Not a tiny dribble of spit up, but the Old Faithful of drool. Neither of her outfits was salvageable. Between the two of us it took 6 outfits and mom's hair in a ponytail before we were out the door. On the way to school and work, I call Aaron and scream his face off because, clearly, somehow, this is all his fault. If nothing else, she must have inherited his gastrointestinal tract. The nerve.

Finally I get her to daycare and I'm late to work. When I arrive, I hurry onto the crowded elevator and push the button for the 6th floor.

My office is on 5.

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