It’s Wednesday of my second week back to work.
I can only say that it’s weird having to make wardrobe decisions beyond: do I want to be naked beneath my robe today or do I wish to wear a soft t-shirt?
I’ve lost all 30 lbs I’d gained during the pregnancy, and to be happier, I am going to lose the additional 20 that my previous anti-depressant [hey there Lexapro] packed onto my previously hipless, buttless body.
The surge seems to be working against this current bout of post-partum depression. Weapon of choice: Zoloft. Or the generic version anyway because it costs me 10 bucks as opposed to 40 for the name brand. It’s very calming. The kids can’t remember the last time I’ve yelled at them [the pregnancy made Armageddon feel like a visit to the petting zoo]. My husband and I are having conversations that don’t make me want to kill small animals. And it’s a wonderful little appetite suppressant. Four-month supply. I’ll take that.
My older brother—my only brother—owns a State Farm agency. He and his wife treat his employees so well, plus he is just an all-around good guy. I emailed him the other day to apply for a job in his office. I figured if I got a base salary plus commission, I’d have a job with flexible hours [always looking for the Best Places to Work for Working Parents] and a really good person in charge of the work portion of my work/life balance.
Turns out, the sky is not the limit for commission and he would never be able to match my current earnings. So I remain stuck in Corporate America. For those of you who’ve been reading me a while, you’ve figured out that I don’t actually like working outside the home. My ideal work day would start at 10 am and start wrapping up for 2 pm. I actually had a job like that once. My executive director even made a hot breakfast for the two of us every morning. Coffee. Egg sandwiches. Bacon. Perfect job while I was living with my parents. Not so perfect when it was time for me to find a place of my own with my two kids. These days I require a livable wage and, certainly, an effing top of the mornin’ every once in a while.
I got six straight hours of sleep last night. That’s what I’m talking about, Mr. Newborn Baby.
Stoked for you that you got some decent sleep last night. Gooooo, Mr. Baby!
I hear you about not wanting to get dressed in the morning. Yesterday, I took a work at home day and somehow didn’t get presentable for more than about 2 hours of it.
Go Zoloft!
Go baby! Go Zoloft!
I get a little bored and lonely sometimes without all my paranoid thoughts and inside voices, but life is always about the trade-off.
I’ve also discovered I love everybody. Strangers, family, co-workers. I want to kiss them.