Last day

Well, here we are.  The last day of work.  The last day of commuting 75 miles one way.  The last day of being the nutzo mom that forgot to send something to the sitter.  The last day of measuring in minutes during the week how much time I get to see my kids.  The last day of putting my work before my family.

There.  I said it.  I feel better.

Because, unfortunately, it is the truth.

I'm really good at what I do, and believe me, I'm not good at much.  And I'm not bragging or boasting.  I'm just simply telling you that I do my work well.  One of the forefront reasons that I have been good at my career is because I care.

I've been employed in this profession for nearly nine years, not including the two years of school that was about 80% clinical.  I'm telling you that I have seen a lot in these eleven years.  I've held a lot of hands, wiped a lot of tears, and done some things that most would not do.  And I know that because I was told that.

In the span of this career, I've seen both ends of the spectrum.  I've seen the best and the worst in humanity.

I assure you there is little I haven't seen.

I've given myself unselfishly for the institution, the career, and the cause.

And starting tomorrow, I do that for my family.

I had to leave Little sick, crying, or upset for someone else to hold her hand, wipe her tears, make her feel better.  And what would I do?  Go to work to hold someone's hand, wipe someone's tears, make someone else feel better.

Sure.  Little's needs were met, as have Blue's been.  But they weren't met by me.

Husband has had to be both parents since I returned from maternity leave.  He cooks, bathes, disciplines, gets them from here to there, runs to the grocery store, etc.  All so I could work.  Work where I wanted to work.

Last week, I asked Little what she wanted to be when she grew up.

Her response,



"A mommy like you."




Last day of a working mom.  Of an absent mom.