On little boys and work
When Jack was born almost 2 years ago, I was able to string together a 2 week parental leave, 2 weeks of vacation, the December holidays, and some extended ‘beach’ time between consulting projects. In all, I had 10 weeks off.
My first day back at work was bewildering. It seemed like all of my coworkers were obsessed with one unimportant thing after another, whether it be staying on top of the excruciating details of client service, or arguing about which group of highly paid athletes would perform better in the next game. I had just experienced the creation and nurturing of a new life…and suddenly I was plunged into a world where no one seemed to share the same wonderment.
Last December (1 year later), after a much-deserved 2 week holiday break, I felt similar emotions on returning to work. I would daydream about watching my son take his first steps. I hated leaving the house each morning knowing that I was missing another exciting day in his life. One time I actually broke into tears on the sidewalk after a child in a Bugaboo passed by, and I imagined my little boy at home without his daddy to play with.
I just returned again from vacation and I’m feeling some of the same emotions. I realize that everyone has a hard time returning to work after a vacation. But when you work as much as I do and your only real chance to spend more than 30 minutes with them is on the weekends, you really cherish a full week of time off.
You slow down, you stop checking your email every 5 minutes, and you actually plug into their lives. You see what toys they like. You see a deer in the yard and you teach them what it is, unsure if they’re really absorbing anything. 3 days later you’re reading a story to them and their eyes light up and they point to a deer on the cover of ‘Good Night Vermont’ and they yell "Dee! Dee! Dee!” It doesn’t get better than that, except that it happens like that every day.
This morning on the train I closed my eyes and remembered watching Jack eat his first ice cream cone. It was chocolate. He dove right into it with his entire face, until it covered his cheeks, nose, chin and down his neck. As the ice cream started to melt, it dripped out of the bottom of the cone and onto his shirt. Eventually he realized what was happening, and he kept lifting it up into the air with his deliberate little hands, trying to figure out how it worked. It’s hard to describe how precious this moment was, and pictures really only tell a little of the story.
I envy my wife, who gets to spend practically every waking moment with the boys. But then I remember how impossible that is, too, and I realize there’s no right answer… I’m sure in 2 weeks I’ll be thrust right back into the maelstrom of work craziness, and I’ll love every moment of it, but there will always be that persistent quiet voice in the back of my head that wonders why we spend so much time away from our children.
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