By signing the offer, I did not feel that I was betraying the child. I was seized by the fear of the unknown in half with pride: this vacancy went to me, I can break free from maternity captivity and grow professionally! And the money will not be superfluous: the husband earns enough, but I want to continue construction in the country, make repairs, go on a trip to Europe, enroll the baby in the pool and gymnastics. She was not worried about her son: he did not stay with strangers. We took him out of the garden at that time (he was sick too often), and instead of a nanny, my own father agreed to stay. He had just quit his previous job and was thinking about what to do. Of course, he agreed to take care of his grandson not for free, and that was reasonable. True, he was not ready for all my duties: we agreed that lunches and dinners for the whole family would remain with me. Coming to work seemed like a fantastic experience amid the boring routine of childcare. New responsibilities, new programs, correspondence in English, multitasking … I was not afraid of difficulties and knew that my brain, creaking after a long stagnation, will learn to process huge flows of information, and it will be easier for me. The rest of the working conditions were excellent, especially the friendly staff and a beautiful office in the center. In the first two weeks, it became clear that my ideas about work were at odds with reality. I planned to come home early, cook dinner and play with my son. Instead, I, dealing with new responsibilities, did not have time for anything and did not come home until 8 pm, or even at 9. Incredibly tired, exhausted by communication (like any introvert who is forced to step over himself), a lot of small organizational matters and small assignments, as well as the sweltering crowd of public transport. And most importantly, the son in these couple of hours before going to bed demanded three times attention! In the morning he accompanied me with a drawn-out sob (“Mom, you don’t need to go to work! Go to bed!”), And in the evening, as soon as I crossed the threshold, he hung on me with a cry “Mom! On the handles! ". With attachment theory in mind, I carried him in my arms, cooking dinner along the way, loading the laundry and cleaning up everything that was scattered and stained during the day. After putting my son to bed, I finished cleaning and cooking, went to the shower and tried to read before bed, but drifted off to sleep on the first page. So a week passed, and I realized that my resource would not be enough for a long time: ahead of the course - neurosis or depression. Since the family cannot help me, I must delegate the remaining household responsibilities. Cleaning services have solved the problem of general cleaning and even ironing - the weekend has finally become a weekend, and not a change from mental to physical labor. With food, everything turned out to be even easier. No, not pizza or delivery from a cafe, but new companies offering pre-cut products in the required quantities. It took 2-3 times less time for dinner! Alas, even this did not solve the main problem. Although the time was free in the evening, there was no strength left for full-fledged classes with my son. I hugged him or read a book, but I felt guilty inside me. My dearest and beloved person misses me, and I betrayed him. My heart says that I must be by his side during these most important first years. But society encourages: work is so great, you are no longer a maternity bastard, you learn new things, paint, wear dresses and shoes, communicate with people, develop and become your own in this world of adults, successful and all successful people. Throw sneakers at me and say that I'm just lazy and don't know anything about Real Work in Big Business. And yet I am sure that development and self-realization for a young mother is up to 4 hours a day. And an office five-day week until late evening (and not only for mothers) is slavery, covered with beautiful words. Of course, I would think differently if I had a mortgage or seriously ill relatives requiring expensive treatment. But all this is not, and a new phone or a two-week trip to the sea will not change our tragedy with my son. We are unhappy and disconnected from each other. When the husband invites him to return from a walk "to his mother," the baby sighs sadly: "Mom is at work." My responsibility does not allow me to escape back to such a familiar routine. Now it seems to me that I would appreciate every moment and do it for my son, kiss him and hug him a hundred times more. I am sorry that the lost time cannot be returned. I hope that in the future I will be able to restore relations with my child and give him the warmth that is now lost. If I could go back now and give myself or someone in a similar situation advice, I would say: “Listen to your mother's heart, and no one else. Only you know what is best for you and your child."
