(no subject)
Helen went to her daycare for the first time yesterday. She did fabulously -- never looked back, had a great time playing with the other kids, followed along with the group, even shared sometimes. I was especially worried about that last bit, the sharing. She's an only child who's never been to daycare or a playgroup. Why would she share anything? I watched her shove a smaller baby out of the way at Sophia's birthday party just so she could get by. At least she won't be a pushover, right?
But she did good. The teacher told me what a sweet girl she is and she's surprised she's never been to a daycare before. Of course I swelled with pride. Then got all weepy because why didn't our baby miss us? Then felt guilty that she doesn't get to go back regularly (she's enrolled on a drop-in basis, just for when we have appointments or I need to work a full day, which is rare, or whatever).
Ah, parenthood. The angst never ends!
And then last night I had some kind of anxiety attack. But I was a little proud of myself for realizing the problem. Both other admins are going to school right now. They've just started and at least a couple of years or longer before they move on to their new careers. But I'm already stressed out about being the only one left. Do I try for the office manager's job? That's a sure thing, a promotion with more money. But more responsibility too. And definitely no getting around it being full time. But I could easily do that job without too much trouble. But would I rather stay part time and stay up in my little alcove, just doing what I'm doing, living the easy life? Or maybe I should get that paralegal certificate already, but that's not a sure thing if there's no money in the budget although they desperately want a paralegal.
Ugh. But all that isn't even the real problem. What my real problem is, is that I'm never, ever the one left behind. I'm always the one going to a new job, moving to a new home, or going for bust and moving out of state to start a whole new career. It's what I do. But this time, I'm the one staying, and I am having serious anxiety about it.
I don't really want to go anywhere and have no plans to do so. But when I'm standing in my dark living room at 2 a.m., looking out the window, wailing internally, "What the hell am I doing in Watkinsville, Georgia," something is amiss. I was actually planning a move back my hometown, Norfolk, Virginia.
I do wonder if I'm ever going to feel settled and content, if I'm ever going to feel like I'm home. Maybe not. I mean, I don't feel sorry for myself over this. People have had and still have much worse lives than I do, and I am grateful for everything I have. It's just one of those things that maybe I need to make peace with. And maybe in two more years, when I've reached the point where I've lived in this house longer than anywhere else in my life, then I'll feel like I'm home.
This time two years ago, I was pregnant and so excited that the closing on our was in less than a week. I was also anxious and worried something would go wrong and we wouldn't close. But as badly as I wanted this house, deep down inside, I would've been a little relieved if it hadn't gone through. I was already feeling some anxiety about buying a house in this market, knowing it wouldn't be easy to get out of later. But my desire for Helen to come home to the place where she'd spend the rest of her childhood was so very important to me.
I am 99 percent sure she will complain when she's older about being stuck in this dumb little house in this dumb little town her whole life and will be dying to get away from it and us. But maybe when she's older and wiser and has been out there for awhile, she'll think back on and love the security and memories and wonderfulness of it all.
As for me, only 17 more years until I get to sell this house and move into a condo!
But she did good. The teacher told me what a sweet girl she is and she's surprised she's never been to a daycare before. Of course I swelled with pride. Then got all weepy because why didn't our baby miss us? Then felt guilty that she doesn't get to go back regularly (she's enrolled on a drop-in basis, just for when we have appointments or I need to work a full day, which is rare, or whatever).
Ah, parenthood. The angst never ends!
And then last night I had some kind of anxiety attack. But I was a little proud of myself for realizing the problem. Both other admins are going to school right now. They've just started and at least a couple of years or longer before they move on to their new careers. But I'm already stressed out about being the only one left. Do I try for the office manager's job? That's a sure thing, a promotion with more money. But more responsibility too. And definitely no getting around it being full time. But I could easily do that job without too much trouble. But would I rather stay part time and stay up in my little alcove, just doing what I'm doing, living the easy life? Or maybe I should get that paralegal certificate already, but that's not a sure thing if there's no money in the budget although they desperately want a paralegal.
Ugh. But all that isn't even the real problem. What my real problem is, is that I'm never, ever the one left behind. I'm always the one going to a new job, moving to a new home, or going for bust and moving out of state to start a whole new career. It's what I do. But this time, I'm the one staying, and I am having serious anxiety about it.
I don't really want to go anywhere and have no plans to do so. But when I'm standing in my dark living room at 2 a.m., looking out the window, wailing internally, "What the hell am I doing in Watkinsville, Georgia," something is amiss. I was actually planning a move back my hometown, Norfolk, Virginia.
I do wonder if I'm ever going to feel settled and content, if I'm ever going to feel like I'm home. Maybe not. I mean, I don't feel sorry for myself over this. People have had and still have much worse lives than I do, and I am grateful for everything I have. It's just one of those things that maybe I need to make peace with. And maybe in two more years, when I've reached the point where I've lived in this house longer than anywhere else in my life, then I'll feel like I'm home.
This time two years ago, I was pregnant and so excited that the closing on our was in less than a week. I was also anxious and worried something would go wrong and we wouldn't close. But as badly as I wanted this house, deep down inside, I would've been a little relieved if it hadn't gone through. I was already feeling some anxiety about buying a house in this market, knowing it wouldn't be easy to get out of later. But my desire for Helen to come home to the place where she'd spend the rest of her childhood was so very important to me.
I am 99 percent sure she will complain when she's older about being stuck in this dumb little house in this dumb little town her whole life and will be dying to get away from it and us. But maybe when she's older and wiser and has been out there for awhile, she'll think back on and love the security and memories and wonderfulness of it all.
As for me, only 17 more years until I get to sell this house and move into a condo!