NaBloPoMo- shhhhh! no running in the hallways.
Today was my first day back working for THE MAN after 11 months of maternity leave. I'm doing my old job, only in a new place (one closer to home, natch) so in some way it felt like starting over. Meeting everyone, introducing myself.
I am based in a school for the time being (I am not part of the school's staff, they just house me) and the transition is...strange. The school setting inhibits me, and also seems to confuse the people around me who -by force of habit I suppose- approach me as though I was a child (instead of a representative of a partner agency). Honestly it feels a bit like they are one step away for telling me off for running up the staircases and sending me to the principal for not wearing my uniform.
My Employing Borough loves me enough to give me a brand new lovely building (with openable windows no less, this time!) to be based in but not enough to give me chairs, computers or a phoneline to go with it. Instead we are sharing one computer (and two chairs) between three people so today when these were occupied I sat on the floor and went over files reminding myself to bring a cushion from home tomorrow and not to wear short skirts for the forseeable future.
On the home front, the baby is poorly and I am being the Designated Night-Time Soother. I remember how I hated that the first three months (mostly because it didn't work) but now I don't tend to view it as A Fearsome And Terrible Burdenne. He is still sleeping through the night he just needs some help now that he has a blocked nose.
In the daytime I don't always know what to do with him, but each night feels like its own world. 9 times out of 10, I am calm like Buddha when I step into his room. Usually it's enough to simply stroke his back or hold his hand for a minute. But if he's struggling I pick him up, kiss his head, sway my body and the small body I'm holding. Shhhh, shhhh, shhhhhhh. There is distant car noise from the street outside, and in the room my voice rises and falls like the sea. He lays his cheek against my collarbone, his body heavy with drowsiness.
I have waited the better part of a year for my son to enjoy and desire cuddling with me. I don't resent it because of that, amongst other reasons. The nighttime world is ours. Dream-heavy, sleep-webbed, the boundaries between us blur. By moments it is as though we are one body again and the lulling dark around us is like a velvet thing you sail into.
I am yours, I tell him, and you are mine. And I wonder if he'll remember any of this as he grows. Whether ever walking in dark rooms he'll feel an echo of comfort, recall the sensation of being held and loved, the scent of my skin, the rhythm of my heart.
And sometimes in there I meet my own memory. A tall blue-eyed man and the sound of his voice. The Russian song he used to sing to send me to sleep.
Spi moya radost usni.
I am based in a school for the time being (I am not part of the school's staff, they just house me) and the transition is...strange. The school setting inhibits me, and also seems to confuse the people around me who -by force of habit I suppose- approach me as though I was a child (instead of a representative of a partner agency). Honestly it feels a bit like they are one step away for telling me off for running up the staircases and sending me to the principal for not wearing my uniform.
My Employing Borough loves me enough to give me a brand new lovely building (with openable windows no less, this time!) to be based in but not enough to give me chairs, computers or a phoneline to go with it. Instead we are sharing one computer (and two chairs) between three people so today when these were occupied I sat on the floor and went over files reminding myself to bring a cushion from home tomorrow and not to wear short skirts for the forseeable future.
On the home front, the baby is poorly and I am being the Designated Night-Time Soother. I remember how I hated that the first three months (mostly because it didn't work) but now I don't tend to view it as A Fearsome And Terrible Burdenne. He is still sleeping through the night he just needs some help now that he has a blocked nose.
In the daytime I don't always know what to do with him, but each night feels like its own world. 9 times out of 10, I am calm like Buddha when I step into his room. Usually it's enough to simply stroke his back or hold his hand for a minute. But if he's struggling I pick him up, kiss his head, sway my body and the small body I'm holding. Shhhh, shhhh, shhhhhhh. There is distant car noise from the street outside, and in the room my voice rises and falls like the sea. He lays his cheek against my collarbone, his body heavy with drowsiness.
I have waited the better part of a year for my son to enjoy and desire cuddling with me. I don't resent it because of that, amongst other reasons. The nighttime world is ours. Dream-heavy, sleep-webbed, the boundaries between us blur. By moments it is as though we are one body again and the lulling dark around us is like a velvet thing you sail into.
I am yours, I tell him, and you are mine. And I wonder if he'll remember any of this as he grows. Whether ever walking in dark rooms he'll feel an echo of comfort, recall the sensation of being held and loved, the scent of my skin, the rhythm of my heart.
And sometimes in there I meet my own memory. A tall blue-eyed man and the sound of his voice. The Russian song he used to sing to send me to sleep.
Spi moya radost usni.