Borrows Trouble.

That would be my Native American name. Or maybe "Mountain out of Molehill."

I positively worked myself into a lather about taking the baby to day care. By Sunday night, tossing and turning all night, I had convinced myself that Av would be in a situation little better than an Eastern Bloc orphanage. No interaction. No touching. Crying all day. Miserable without her mother.

So this was what I was expecting on Monday. And now three days in, it's nowhere near what we got. Av has lovely teachers who genuinely love kids and want to teach them about the world. She goes outside in the 9-man buggy every day. She naps--for longer than 20 minutes--in a crib. (She's yet to set foot in her crib at home.) And she's so nonchalant about it all; like, "See ya, mom." It's really a lesson for me. This is what she's like pretty much all the time:

Even I have managed to get organized and keep myself from breaking down when I drop her off. We are both in a good place. It's nice to be back at work and feel like myself again. I am a new self, mostly, but I am recognizing old pieces of me. Which is good.

Pumping at work: not even that big of a deal. Though I positively live in fear of someone opening the door on me. Won't that make a good story. Har har.