Today is the last day of my maternity leave. The Lad is 2 months old. He's 11 pounds, 5 ounces, and 23.5 inches long. The doctor pronounced him perfect at today's check-up.
On Monday, I'll leave The Lad in the capable hands of his Daddyman. Next Monday, I'll drop off The Lad at daycare with The Boy. As his brother was, The Lad will be 10 weeks old when he goes to daycare full-time. That felt impossibly small with The Boy. I worried the daycare ladies, not me, would mold his personality. I worried he would forget me. I worried he would get hurt. I worried he wouldn't love me.
Of course, none of those things happened. If anything, being away from each other just made The Boy and I snuggle more when we were together. I am a much more patient and present mother when I'm absent for a bit. And The Lad somehow seems bigger than The Boy was at this age. He's not. The Boy was and is a tank. I think the difference is knowing, this time, just how fast the baby phase goes. I know the cooing conversations The Lad and I are having now will be words in just months. I know today's smiles will turn overnight into belly laughs. All of this means, I'll be mostly worry-free dropping off The Lad to the ladies who have oohed and ahhed over him for the last few weeks as we took his big brother to school.
I'm excited to get back to work. I'm looking forward to having uninterrupted conversations and time to read and write. The thought of going eight hours without having a little person touching me makes me a bit giddy.
But I will admit to sniffing The Lad's fuzzy little head, as he snuggles on my chest, just a bit more than usual this week. (Doing it now, in fact.) As happy as I am to return to work, I'm already looking forward to coming home to my boys.