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I get a stomachache when I hand Maisie off to the nanny for the first time. I know she’s in good hands. And I know I need a break, even if that break is going to the office.
It’s still hard.
On my short drive to uptown, I get off my mental soapbox long enough to think about Beau.
When I’m not thinking about Maisie, I’m thinking about him.
My stomach clenches, and the saliva in my mouth thickens. I feel like I’m back in my first trimester, when I was always this close to vomiting up the cracker I just ate.
I’ve tried to stay angry. I’ve tried to focus on what a dick move it was, not only letting me leave, but letting me leave without so much as a wave or a word. And not to have checked in with me to see if we got home okay? That nearly tore my heart out of my chest.
That’s not the Beau I know and love.
Yet I find myself dwelling on the romance of my time with him. The way he brushed his nose against mine when we kissed. How his bicep and Maisie’s head were the same size.
The way he made me feel.
Like I was myself again, only better for having endured what I did. A wiser, stronger mom and woman and friend. My many skins fitting over my bones just right, the way they were always supposed to.
I run into my boss, Matt, in the parking garage elevator. We make small talk. I like Matt, he’s a good guy. But it’s early, and I’m tired, and keeping the conversation going takes tremendous effort on my end.
Not for the first time, I wonder how the hell I’m going to get through this day.
7:15 morning call. Traders running through their axes. Syndicate has two deals coming, both in the high grade space, both big industrial names. Meaning we have a hellaciously busy day ahead.
Pumping is almost an escape. The mother’s room in my part of the building is austere and kind of gross. Whoever used it last left spilled milk on the little table beside the chair I’m using and didn’t clean it up.
Makes me feel like puking. Again.
Turning away from it, I check the Bloomberg app on my phone.
I did not miss not opening it during my maternity leave.
Fifty unread messages await.
I go through them, one by one. Forwarding a client bid to a trader. Responding to our sales assistant about a ticket she’s trying to put in.
I text the nanny and ask her how things are going. She sends me a picture of Maisie smiling in her bouncy seat, and I feel better.
Throughout the day, I find myself thinking often about that second act I’ve pondered.
Over the past year, my time has become enormously more precious. Now that I’m back in the office, I’m more certain than ever it’s time to move on. I don’t know what it is about having Maisie, and having depression, that’s shifted my dreams into high gear. Maybe I just want to spend more time with her.
Maybe I’m realizing what’s truly important after my stay at Blue Mountain: family. Friends. Time spent doing things I’m passionate about with the people I love.
Until I figure out what my next move will be, however, I have to stick with the job I have. With a family to care for, I still need an income, and I definitely still need good health insurance.
Washing my pump parts in the cruddy little sink, I decide to be my wiser, stronger, you-got-this self here at work, too. I just have to take it one step at a time. And take whatever help is offered. The way I did when I was fly-fishing, and skeet shooting, and gnocchi making.
I don’t need a guy to be empowered.
I can empower myself. Today. Right now. I only need to decide to do it. And fucking do it. I can call my friends and pour my heart out to them. I can make coffee dates with them, and baby play dates, and we can have girls’ night out at our favorite restaurants in town.
I can heal in my own small, slow way.
Breastmilk cooler slung over my shoulder, I march back to the trading floor.
As my therapist said, I don’t need to have the best day.
Hell, I don’t even need to have a good day.
But I am determined to have a day that doesn’t suck.
I got this.
“So,” Mom says from the sink, where she’s bathing Maisie. “How did your first day back go?”
Because she’s awesome, and because I think she’s a little lonely without Larry around, Mom stopped by to lend an extra pair of hands.
Pouring us each a glass of sparkling water, I say, “It started out pretty rough. When I woke up this morning, I wasn’t sure I was going to be able to do it. Make it through the day without having a total breakdown. But you know what? After I got over that initial hump, it went pretty well. Don’t get me wrong, I was exhausted. And stressed. But overall, it went better than I thought it would.”
