I have a job. I start in about three weeks. It’s the position I wanted, in the area of my main interest (Cardiac ICU), with the appropriate hours, and has a healthy payrate. I am excited.
I am nauseous.
What… was… I… thinking?
Olive will have to go to daycare. I won’t see every wonderful thing she does on a daily basis. I will have to surrender her to people who will surely do their absolute best to care for her, but could never love her on such an infinite and overwhelming level. She will cry. I will cry. I’m reasonably confident she will get over it. I’m not sure I will.
I repeat – WHAT WAS I THINKING???
Oh yeah. Those pesky little things called BILLS. That silly business of the (no longer leaking – yay!) roof over our heads. The new gutters being installed this coming Monday. The exterior paint job looming in the distance.
I know, I know. She’s going to do fine. If anything, she’s going to love being around other kids on a regular basis. Matter of fact, she will probably demand an explanation of why she was not introduced to this sooner. And I will still get to spend loads of time with her, seeing as how I will be working three days a week, 7 AM – 7 PM and the occasional weekend.