Transitions have always been hard for me. My anxiety always unknowingly oozes out of the cracks during that murky middle ground between end and beginning.
Today is Tuesday and on Thursday my big fat maternity leave (of sorts) is ending and I am beginning my 9-5, M-F nannying job. Of course the full maternity leave duties of caring for my daughter don’t end, I am just taking a 6-year-old and a 9-year-old. The part I am dreading the most is going to the beach and having someone assume they are all my daughters and that i had the first one at 14.
No the part I am dreading is that relative flexibility that comes with having an infant and no other job (a luxury) will evaporate and I won’t have time to do anything except take care of children.
So to make up for this I have been cramming my remaining days full, clawing to my semblance of a schedule. Today Jolene and I went to the pediatrician for shots, picked up a Bumbo a nice lady in my local parents FB group was giving away, went to our very last new mama group, returned books at the library and picked up our farm share (having a baby really changes the things you have to cross off your list to feel accomplished, I will tell you that).
The result of this too full day was a too tired mama and a too grumpy Jolene. I should have skipped picking a bouquet of flowers at the farm but they are so beautiful to have around the house. So I walked to the flower field, which is at the entrance of the farm and because I left the ergo at home I lay Jolene in the grass by the flowerbeds for about 3 minutes while I scrambled to pick flowers.
On my way back to the farm stand to return the scissors, This lady (and her super intense energy) accosted me and flipped out because she usually parks by the flowers to pick on her way out and she never would have seen my daughter lying there if she had tried to park there and it was so irresponsible of me. I confess I did not handle it well. I spit back that the farm is a family place and she should expect there to be children around and that there is a parking area for parking (maybe this sounds reasonable but my tone was not), at which point she tells me that she (and I quote) “just didn’t want a dead baby and a lawsuit on my (her) hands.”
Okay. I made a mistake. But I am not Casey Anthony. I did not lay my child in the road, or even “on the side of the road.” I put her in the grass 15 feet from the dirt driveway of a farm and far far away from the nearest parking area.
And dear lord, if you ever see a new mom making a mistake, please please however mad and shocked you are don’t use the phrase “dead baby.” Chances are if she is anything like me, she already spends a fat portion of her brain worrying about all the ways her child could perish in a freak accident, so emphasizing what would happen if you hit her with your way too big car with bad visibility is just being mean.
I was super mad at that dumb bitch (excuse me) but I was mostly mad at myself not handling my shit with said dumb bitch and for putting Jolene in any sort of danger. And just now I realized that this week is one big fat transition that I am saying goodbye to the first beautiful half of Jo’s first year and welcoming in all the awesome new stuff. Needless to say emotions are running high. Tomorrow is our last day before new job starts, and I think I will blow off errands and go for a big fat walk with my cheerful, thriving baby. And forget about the haters.