I walked out the door this morning with a crying Miss Curious reaching for me, arching her back in protest of my departure against the strong and capable arms of my husband.
I had laid Miss Tiny into her crib for an early morning nap, knowing I would be gone when she woke up I gave her an extra kiss and stood and stared at her incredibly chubby cheeks.
My boys were still asleep enjoying the last lazy mornings of their summer holidays.
I sighed. I attended class. I returned at 3:30.
Miss Curious clung to me. Sobbing, she didn't let me put her down for an hour. Miss Tiny avoided eye contact until she finally melded her body into mine for an evening bottle.
I am not meant to be a working mother when I have babies at home. They have been through too much to have to deal with my absence.
You should know I quit my job. A month ago.
It would seem to make very little sense, with a husband that is unemployed and finances tighter than you can imagine and yet I did. The part time contract offered to me that cut my salary in half and dropped all my benefits sealed the decision (the economy is affecting even schools), but my heart was never into going back.
So instead of today being my first day back to work, today I took a parenting class for foster parents. Today I heard them talk about the necessity of "stability" and "routine". Today I remembered long ago learned lessons on attachment and foundation.
Today I came home knowing that it was the right choice for my family. That my husband can (and is!!!) look for work "away" (as in anywhere in this country or the next where there is work!) and I can stay home and keep the family going.
It is no sacrifice to give the girls the very best of me. They deserve, and I need to give it.