Unsettled

You know that subtle gloomy feeling that sneaks in on Sunday evenings and Monday mornings, that slight dread for all the not-so-much-fun that the beginning of a week brings with it?

Yeah, multiply that by about a zillion and you get to where I'm at.

I'll attempt to keep the bitching at a minimum, but it's all I've got right now. Some inspiration, eh?

Last week ended my year of parental leave. I'm taking two paid days off later this week to round out my year of long weekends, and I get a lump in my throat every time I think about the end of this week.

The official end of infancy. (Even though Brian argues the boy hasn't been an infant for months)

The return of full-time work.

The start of daycare two days a week.

And other, yet-to-be-determined changes in the near future.

Yes, please, I'd like the clock to come to a screetching halt right about now. Because I'm just not that good at change.

I know Cayden will benefit immensely from the socialization his part-time school will offer. I know I've been luckier than many in having been able to work part-time for a year. I know -- from having returned to work part-time three months after Cayden's birth -- the anticipation is far, far worse than the changes themselves. I know we'll figure out a new routine of cleaning and errand-running and quality family time. I know there is so much to look forward to this fall. And I surely know our bank account could use a few full-time paychecks.

But that all that conscious knowledge in the back of my head doesn't stand a chance against the emotional, irrational thoughts at the forefront of my brain, and I'm desperate for things to stay the way they are now.

Back in October Brian repeatedly reminded me the gypsies weren't coming to take my baby when I had to part with him three days a week.

This past weekend he assured me my boy won't face a firing squad when I resume a full-time schedule next Monday.

I know my boy will adjust wonderfully. It's me I'm selfishly worried about. One day at a time, I guess.

If only each of those days could stretch on forever.