Weary

I worked late last night because of an event we had at the school. And boy am I tired. Driving home at almost 10:00, I got flashbacks of working in my high stress long hours job, and I wondered how I was ever capable of getting out of bed each morning. I guess I just got accustomed to working late hours regularly, and that might explain why I used to be a complete bitch most of the time. My routine existed of schlepping myself out of bed each morning, getting ready for work (tossing on whatever clothes were comfortable because after a while I stopped caring), heading to the office, project managing proposals for the entire day (hardly ever taking lunch break), coming home any time between 7:00 and midnight (sometimes even later), flopping on the couch, tossing back a few drinks to ease the pain, going to bed to do it all over again. Yes, that lifestyle made me a completely enraged depressed bitch.

So last night, while driving home and remembering the not so good old days, I was grateful to know that this particular evening was a one time only gig. It was a special event to introduce a wonderful new archive to the public and get feedback on how our team can make it even better. It was fun, inspiring, and overall, a nice experience. But, the fact that I HAD to be there did put a bit of a damper on things.

Not only did I work a 13 hour day, but because of the long work day, I only got to see my baby for about 15 minutes at 7:30 yesterday morning. It was hard not getting to see him in the evening and kiss and hug him and ask him about his day. I did not get to assist with his bath or cuddle him in those final moments before he fell asleep. I also missed what the Professor described as a landmark occasion, when C-Dog Baby drained a sippy cup of juice and water for the first time ever. He usually just slurps a little and looks at us as if to say, “Look! I took a sip!” But yesterday, the Professor reported that he tilted the little cup back and sucked it dry. For the first time. And I missed it.

Now I know that such an event is not a monumental occasion. It’s not like he said his first coherent word or took his first step. But I hate that I missed it just the same. It is a moment in his life, a first, that will never happen again. This brings me to an even bigger sadness/regret/whatever you want to call it – I wonder what other special firsts I am missing while I sit in front of a computer all day in an office with horrible air circulation wishing I was somewhere else.

C-Dog Baby spends most of his time awake with people I hardly even know. I feel like they may possibly even understand my child more than I do because they spend almost every one of his conscious moments watching him, witnessing those small events that probably do not even seem all that special in their eyes. Each day when I pick him up from daycare, they say, “He did so well today!” “He’s making a lot of progress.” “He had a really good day.” Now, I know they mean well and want to report that he’s happy and well cared for. But what I really want to know is what made his day a good day? What happened to elicit a report of good progress? I know I can ask for details, but really, these women, like me, just want to get out of there and get home to their own families. And, when I actually do take the time to prod for details, I get very vague responses. In essence, it really doesn’t matter what the response might be anyway because all I really want is to be the witness of progress at each and every moment.

See what being tired does to me?