12 weeks. Almost three whole months. 86 days home with my precious baby boy.
In these three months, my Caelan went from a newborn to a not so little boy with his own funny personality. He’s learned to smile and make eye contact and to grab his toys. He knows who his mommy and daddy and grandparents are. He can almost hold his own head up and he absolutely LOVES bathtime.
Any finite amount of time with my baby boy just isn’t enough. I was there when Caelan smiled and laughed for the first time and for every new sound or developmental milestone he achieved. I haven’t missed anything, and now I’m so afraid that I might. I’ve agonized over this decision since before I gave birth.
It’s hard because I love my job. And I’m honestly excited at the idea of returning to the projects I’ve started. To once again giving a part of myself to our community. A community my child is now a part of. I’ve looked forward to once again using my degree and to having something me again.
But it also brings tears to my eyes. Every time I calculate the hours I’ll be away from rather than with my child I wonder if I’m making the right choice. I wonder if he’ll miss me or if I’m letting him down.
I want to provide the things he needs, like clothes, and diapers, and co-pays at the doctor if he gets sick. But I also want to give him the things he dreams of. I want to be able to take him to PA to visit his cousin and to the children’s museum once in a while. I want to take him to Disney World and spoil him Christmas morning.
We do what we have to as parents, and it almost always involves giving up something. I’m fortunate to go back to a job I love, that’s only five minutes away from my baby, and to have help from my family. But I’m really, really going to miss seeing Caelan’s smile and hearing him laugh all day, every day.