Today should be my last day at work before an extra-long maternity leave.
Before Lydia arrives on Friday.
Which is, coincidentally, the last day of classes at my university.
While I was pregnant with Lydia, the typical question "When's your due date?" felt off. It was December 18th, but it didn't matter; I had a scheduled c-section on December 12th. The last day of classes.
So when students would ask, I'd tell them, "You'll finish up classes. I'll finish up this pregnancy." I found it amusing, appropriate. Good timing, Lydie.
I now lead two lives lives; one in my head of what I should be doing right at this moment. All the last minute work to be out of the office for a long time, making sure things are in order so my replacement knows what she's doing while I'm gone. Getting things done so I won't have to worry about work while I am home with my two kids... for such a nice, long time. Coming home, looking forward to my day to myself tomorrow, making sure that everything is ready for Lydie at home, that the carseat is snug in the car, that I have everything I need packed in my hospital bag.
Instead, I had to pack for the hospital 5 weeks ago, without bringing a damn thing for my child.
This life, the one I have to keep reminding myself about, is shear torture.