My heart is heavy

Tomorrow I return to work.

I haven’t been to work since Friday 13 November 2009. Boy was I ready to not go to work anymore that week. I was quite pregnant. I’d had last minute projects heaped on me. My staff were mournfully staring at me and occasionally breaking into not helpful little speeches about how they would miss me. Colleagues came and wrote suggestions on my whiteboard for my weeks post work, but before baby – massages, haircuts, eyebrow waxes, movies. People came past making jokes about seeing my toes – like I couldn’t! Well, I could, if I sat down.  I went to the pool at lunchtime – I lumbered up and down, but was blissfully unable to feel the weight of the bubba – although he kicked and kicked every time. I got agitated at 4pm every afternoon, when could I go? How about now? Now? Is now any good? Tiredness like I had never felt in that last week. Vagueness that didn’t sit well with me, memory lapses – some significant ones too. Then suddenly, I was gone. I was on maternity leave – five weeks out from my ‘confinement’ – yes it is really still expressed like that in our agreement.

Then for fifteen months I didn’t have to think about it. I gave it the odd reflection. I thought about it when I drove past. Then this week, suddenly, as if it were three minutes ago, not over a year ago, I am going back. My heart is heavy. Not for reasons you might expect. Benedict is settling into child care – he will be ok. I don’t cry every time I leave him there.  I haven’t forgotten how to do things. After all, plus ça change, plus c’est la même chose. My heart is heavy because I will lose writing time. I will lose reading time. I will lose the precious minutes when the house is quiet, it is the middle of the day, and I can drink tea and stare at the trees or the sky, or do some thinking. No more writing time.

Selfishly, I am heavy-hearted about the lost of some stolen moments to think and to be me.