The past couple of weeks, I have been getting more and more nervous about returning to work. I lay awake at night dreaming of scenarios where I am being treated unfairly and how I will react. I find myself thinking about it during the day and rubbing my fingernail until it was shiny. And even when I am not specifically thinking of work, I still rub my fingernail, subconsciously, until it is even shinier.
And today was the day. My first day back in 13 weeks.
And you know what? It wasn't horrible.
I didn't get treated poorly. I was sugary sweet to anyone who dared to not welcome me back properly. I set up my new cubicle, and didn't complain that I can't hang anything on the wall because they don't want holes where tacks have been in their brand new drywall.
I ordered some office supplies, like a new trash can, because apparently mine didn't make it in the move. I put up pictures, and moved files, and set up my voicemail. And I also did a little bit of actual work!
When I got home, Sam was still napping and Charlie was happy as she could possibly be in her swing. I was able to eat dinner with Sam, bathe both of them, and put them to bed...all before Workaholic got home. There were no major fits or tantrums or meltdowns. I even put away some laundry.
It was a good day. I can only hope for more good days just like it.