I get home from work at 7:30 this morning to find my 3 year old son cuddled up in the recliner, clutching his "blue blankie" and his "spider-man blankie." He's recently discovered that he does not have to stay in his room until we come get him. And, so far, he doesn't seem to realize the mischief he could cause before we find out he is awake. So, here he is, cuddled up and waiting patiently. The dog is loose in the living room and, because we keep him locked in our room with us at night, this would have me think that my husband is awake and getting ready. Further investigation proves otherwise. The light is on in our bedroom, my daughter is sleeping soundly in her bassinet, and my husband is snoring softly with a pillow over his face. I gather my pajamas and softly close the door.
I ask Mason, "Honey, did you let the dog out of our room?"
He nods.
"And did you turn the light on in our room?"
Another nod.
"But you didn't wake up Daddy?"
"No, Mom. You weren't sleeping! (he sounds distressed.) I went to sleep last night (which he pantomimes by folding his hands under his head) and I woke up, and you were still at the doctor's and working and fixing people. And then I started crying because I missed you." His voice cracks, he pouts, and he covers his face with the blue blankie.
And my heart breaks. Just a little. Just enough. I had a terrible time going back to work after my daughter was born. With Mason, it wasn't so bad - he was a crabby, colicky baby, and though I hated to leave him, I knew he was going to cry either way. Then, with my daughter, I got to thoroughly enjoy my time with both of them. Madison has been a happy, easygoing baby, and Mason is just fun. His imagination and the things he comes up with are amazing to me. Spending 12 weeks with them, on a normal, day shift schedule, made me realize the time I'm missing out on. The time I won't get back. And I was determined to, if not completely stay home, at least find a way to go part-time. To get on a normal day shift schedule, and be home in the evenings, and on the weekends.
Madison is now 8 months old and I am still working full-time midnights. A few part-time spots became available but they didn't seem feasible at the time. Then my husband got a raise, but we still are unsure what to do about insurance if I lose mine by going part-time. And the part-time opportunities have passed, at least for now. And I have to admit, it's nice being comfortable right now. We don't really have to worry about much. And we are hoping to sell our house this year and move into something bigger. And we'd like a camper. And there's just always something.
And in the midst of all those meaningless somethings, there is my son's voice, saying "I cried because I miss you." There is my daughter, attempting to crawl for the first time. How did material desires become more important than these moments and memories? These soft baby snuggles, and brief hugs from my whirlwind little boy - I have such a short time to enjoy them. There will always be time for things. I need to remember what is important now.
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