You know that feeling you used to get on Sunday nights? When the clock on "60 Minutes" would come on and you'd feel the weekend ticking sadly away from you? That strange mixture of dread and excitement?
I have it bad. Tomorrow is my first day back at work. Milo is coming with me, thanks to a great program that lets new babies come to the office until they're mobile (more or less). I did it with Lu and it was hard, but the juggling act seemed far easier than making the hard choice between dropping off a three-month-old at daycare and giving up my career.
The juggling act may be harder this time. I have more responsibility and am accountable to more people (read: more meetings). But we're going to do it. And I am hopeful that Milo's sweet disposition and my own calmer, second-time-around demeanor will help us out.
When I think about going to work tomorrow, I am reminded of when I was a little girl on the way to the doctor. My pediatrician's office was at the top of MLK Boulevard, up the very steep hill off Lamar. Every time Mom and I drove up that big hill, we'd talk about the Little Engine That Could and say "I think I can, I think I can, I think I can," which must have been some effort to make me brave.
Tomorrow, I will drive up that same hill to my office, chugging along pulling a baby behind me. I think I can...