Most days, I feel like we have it together. Life is a little crazy, but in some ways I kind of thrive on it. Between Tanner, Melissa, the nanny, grandparents and me, Hannah stays pretty well taken care of. At my appointment a few weeks ago, my ob/gyn (who has three kids of her own) kind of summed the two working parent, nanny situation up well. "It is like a puzzle," she said. "And it is kind of fun, and you keep having to figure it out again and again as the kids get older."
I appreciate that Hannah has so many caretakers and I know how very lucky we are to have family near and far that are always willing to help and to have a nanny, rather than worrying about dropping Hannah off and picking her up at daycare everyday (you will see how lucky as you read on.) But still, some days, it seems like the puzzle pieces just won't fit. Today is one of those days.
Right now it is 11 pm, I have been awake since before 5. I just fired off a project for work that I spent most of the evening (plus 10 hours at the office today) trying to finish up. I am currently pumping for the fifth time today, something I am not sure I have ever done before. We exhausted most of my frozen milk stock when we went to Vegas weekend before last and I am freaking out that there will not be enough as I will be in DC for work for three days next week. I was pretty much devastated when I walked in the door today and saw that the nanny had to defrost ten ounces of milk today, ounces I was relying on desperately to provide sustenance for Hannah during my trip next week. I cringed as she took eight ounces of milk before bed (like three times her normal amount). I think she knows and she is doing this to torture me.
And then the kicker... I had been home for an hour, Hannah had been fed and was about to be bathed, Tanner and I had already eaten, and Tanner inquired about the whereabouts of Winston. Panic struck. I had dropped him off at the vet this morning for an ear infection and completely forgot to pick him up. While in the whole scheme of things, this is not a huge deal, and I will just be there at 730 when they open, Hannah in tow, to pick him up and pay what I am sure will be a ridiculous sum of money, I am still horrified. I feel so guilty, I cannot believe I just forgot him. And I cannot believe no one from the office even bothered calling me. And I am so glad I don't have to pick Hannah up every day, because what if I forgot her. Of course, I don't think I would, and surely daycare would not just put her in a crate and leave her alone in a dark, unfamiliar place for an entire night. And now, all I can think about is poor Winston, lonely and wondering if he has been permanently abandoned, which probably would not be all that shocking to him, based on the way he has been neglected for the last nine months.
As I type this, I realize my feelings are irrational and ridiculously dramatic and there are people with real problems. The dog will probably only suffer from a mild case of post traumatic stress disorder, if Hannah had to take her first sip of formula at 9.5 months odds are she would survive (although I am still pretty determined to avoid it, mainly because the finish line is inching closer by the day) and most of all that I should count my blessings. And I do, every day. Some days are still just a little bit overwhelming.
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