Melancholy mom

This was the first week of school. Not for my kiddos, obviously, but for my husband, a teacher. It would have been the first week of school for me too, if I was going back to work. The week to meet my students, to reconnect with my colleagues after our summer vacations. The week to feel productive and intelligent again.

But instead, the scope of my productivity now lies somewhere between doing the dishes and laundry, vacuuming and washing the floor, walking the dog, and constantly picking up toys. Oh and attending to the every need of the kiddos.

My new daily routine: Wake up around 8:30 with the kids. Go upstairs for Cavan's one cartoon and a sippy while I make myself coffee. (Note: I do not like coffee, but unfortunately it is necessary for survival after waking up five times through the wee hours.) Then breakfast. Eggs or oatmeal. Cavan's choice. Then shower time. Emma chills in the swing we have in the bathroom. Then back upstairs to read books and practice our letters. (Cavan is learning how to write and draw). Unfortunately, I have to bribe Cavan with another cartoon to practice her letters, so then comes the second cartoon of the day, during which I make some lunch. After lunch, we go for our daily walk, assuming the weather is cooperating. Upon return, we might play on the swing set, or just go inside for another sippy and a nap. It is now between 2-3:30. Cavan usually sleeps for two or three hours—yes, I know I am blessed with a child that both sleeps till 8:30 AND naps in the afternoon—during which I try to get some cleaning done. That is, if I don't take a nap myself, which all depends on Emma. Six or 6:30—Cavan wakes up. Sippy + supper. Hopefully Daddy gets home by 7:00, though lately he has been delayed. Since Cavan naps, she also doesn't go to bed until about 9:30, so Daddy and I get an hour of couch time before we head down to bed. Of course, don't forget about the six-week-old hanging off my boob all day or riding in my Baby Bjorn or Moby wrap. Sometimes she will sleep in the swing, but on a whole, she likes to be held.

Don't get me wrong, I would not have it any other way. I do want to be home to raise my kids. There is nothing better than seeing the excitement in Cavan's face when she writes the letter A for the first time. And sitting on the couch during Cavan's nap with Emma snuggling into my chest is pure peace. But my brain is feeling left out. I feel like I'm not contributing, though I know I'm doing the most important job in the family. I loved my career and my colleagues. I have worked since I was 15. I feel like I have just given up a piece of me, but at the same time, there is nothing I love more than being a mom. This stay-at-homing is a melancholy transition.