Finished my third day back at work, and I have hit an all-new low on the sadness scale.
I knew going back to work would be hard, but I didn’t imagine it the way it turned out. It has been made worse by my husband getting called in to work every day until after Pascha. I work 8-4, he works 4-1. We don’t see each other unless one of us decides not to sleep. Our schedule makes it even more heartbreaking that Seraphim is not at home; we would never have to leave our tiny baby with a babysitter just yet, if only there was a baby to be caring for.
I have consoled myself with saying that I must be doing better; a couple of months ago, if I’d been feeling as sad as I feel now, I would’ve called in sick. I did that many times between November and February. My supervisor said she understood and put up with it.
The sad is unbearable now, but I still show up and stick it out. Every day, women bring their screaming infants to the library for me to listen to. I can’t even remember what my own son’s cry sounded like. Every time I think of that, I feel terrible. Why can’t I remember? Every day, I have to listen to people fawn over my supervisor’s pregnancy–something she explicitly denied me by insisting I not tell anyone I was pregnant. Little did I know at the time that she was pregnant. Well, it’s abundantly clear now and the anger turns into sadness whenever I see her, whenever I hear someone comment about her belly.
I dreaded the comments I would get from people when I returned to work. I didn’t think I wouldn’t get any.
Honestly, the comments I prepared myself for would have been much more enjoyable than not get any.
I feel like I was forgotten, and now, finally, my baby really did never exist.
Not a single question about why I was gone 7 weeks, not a single question about my baby or even my own health. No one has even asked me why I cut my hair. I would be happy to tell them. I would be delighted to tell them about my baby, about life and how I’m recovering–emotionally and physically. Knowing that the people I spend my days with care even a bit would help immensely.
Instead, life goes on for everyone else, but for me it’s standing still. I wish everyone would just give me a chance to catch up, but I’m simply not ready to yet.