transitioning

It has been a rough ride going back to work, I'm not going to lie. My house is a capital D-isaster. Laundry? Find something not too dirty in that pile over there. Dishes? I can eat ice cream with a butter knife. Dog hair? Let's call it above-floor insulation.

Don't call Children's Aid on me please, I promise that my child is dressed in a clean diaper and fresh clothes every morning, and does not play in filth. I'm just finding that balancing work, motherhood and domestic responsibilities causes a quick and utter lapse in the obviously least important of the three.

I have enjoyed returning to work. I love spending my days outside in this glorious Autumn weather. I arrive at work before 7, and walk to my area listening to the Arctic wolves howl and yip at the sunrise, their breath rising in steamy clouds between the trees. I rouse the otters from sleep and let them outside, and release reindeer out into their paddock. Their antlers are bare now, all that lovely velvet rubbed off, a sure sign of fall. The jaguars hesitate at their doors before venturing out, not quite sure if the chill is worth it. The flamingoes don't seem to care; they will stay outside until their legs are stuck in the frozen pond. The beavers are furiously munching away and cluttering up their viewing window with fresh sticks, hunkering down for the deep cold ahead.

Yes, I love my job. I miss my son terribly while I am away at work, but I would be lying if I told you that I hated leaving every morning. I enjoy the adult conversation, the rewarding work, and the physical exertion. And I am that much more excited to see Hunter and enthusiastic about whatever he's up to when I get home, having not seen him all day. He likes daycare, and although I do remember making snide comments like "why would you have kids and then pay someone else to raise them?" before I had one of my own, I now truly appreciate that other saying, "It takes a village..." and how very true that is. Even if some of the villagers require monthly withdrawals from my bank account.

The fact is that parents usually need to work. I am blessed, because I actually enjoy my work. I struggle with guilt just like any parent (a friend once told me that motherhood is just one big 18 year-long guilt trip), but when it comes down to it, Hunter enjoys daycare. He has never played strange with anyone and I attribute that to being exposed to lots of new people at an early age. We are both ecstatic to see each other at the end of the day, and, since I am not burnt out by a job I hate or by chasing him around all day, we go home and enjoy each other's company.

Yes, we are long on love around here, but short on clean socks. I don't mind.