I go back to work next week.

Take a minute. Let the weight of that sentence hit you.

I had thought that going back to work after the second child would not be as hard as it was after the first child. After the first, I remember calling my husband every day for two weeks crying and asking why I was doing this. I spent the whole two weeks trying to convince myself that I was the person who could go back on my obligations and quit unexpectedly even though everyone was counting on my coming back. I was working on completely embracing the idea that every employee is replaceable – that I was not unique in that category. I talked to my mom and my dad and anyone who would listen. And for the record, everyone was okay with me deciding that I couldn’t go back and quitting last minute. Apparently everyone but me. I went back, and it was tough (maybe one of the biggest understatements of my life), but we survived. I had to get used to the idea that someone else was taking care of my child while I helped to raise over one hundred other children as a high school teacher, but I loved my daycare and the people I met there. Our family got into a routine. It worked.

I thought that it would be easier to go back after the second because I have already done this before. I know my work. I know my daycare. I know how the life would look.

There’s the kicker. I know how life is going to work.

I know that I’m only ever going to feel adequate at both my jobs – teacher and mom. That sucks.

Before kid I put everything I had into work. Everything. I loved it. I loved connecting with the kids. I loved the challenge of figuring out curriculum. I loved the critical thought that came with the job. I was pretty darn good at it.

While I’ve been home these past few months I’ve been able to be a kick-ass mom. And when I say kick-ass I mean not monitoring how much screen time my kids have, the house is usually at least presentable, and take-out isn’t the worst thing that can happen in a week. Clearly there is room for improvement. But I got to be present in my kids life. Most of my energy was devoted to my babies. Very rarely would I say “Sorry honey, mommy is tired right now. Why don’t you play by yourself for a bit?” I’d take the time to dance and sing with my biggest. I could take the time to sit and cuddle with my littlest. I didn’t have to worry about anything other than the home front. There was never the nagging obligations in the back of my mind.

But now, now I know that I am going to be adequate. I know that I’m not going to have the energy that I have now.

Besides being just adequate, I feel the pull of separating from my baby because of the job. Part of going back to work meant that I had to wean my baby. I know. I know. Breast is best, and I could pump at work. Lots of women do. I cannot imagine doing that with my job. Women do, but I know it’s not for me. So that meant weaning my baby. And even though I was never the woman who loved breast-feeding, I loved the connection I had with my baby. I loved that it was me who she had to turn to to get what she needed. I know that weaning her means that now other people are going to be meeting her needs. It breaks my heart.

I feel the separation so strongly this time around. I’ve seen the energy that I can have when I don’t work and what I can give to my girls. I’ve seen what that does for our relationships. I know what it’s like to give up most of the care and have to share the love with someone else. And it’s breaking my heart. I know that I’m going to feel like I’m never giving enough.

People keep asking me “do you have to go back?” And the honest answer is no. Then I’m asked, “why are you going back?” And honestly, at this exact moment, I don’t know why other than I can’t make up my mind early enough, and I just don’t have it in me to go back on my word. I do remember thinking that I love working, and that I wanted to give my daughters a good example of a working mother so they know they can do it too, and that my daughter loves daycare and her friends, and the socialization is good for her. I remember thinking all of these things at one point in time. But for the life of me, I don’t feel these things anymore. All I feel is the separation.

I’m sure that once I’m back and people are excited to see me that I will remember why I made this decision. Right now I can’t. I know that it will be okay. I know that my husband will support me and help me keep the house together (really he will probably do more than his share – he’s awesome that way). I know it will be okay. I’m just not sure how long it will take me to feel that way, too. There’s got to be an expiration date on separation anxiety, right?

Good grief, I’m a hot mess.