The first cut is the deepest

Leaving my son today as I went to back work was ridiculously, mind bogglingly, hard. I feel numb. I feel like I can't breathe. There is a huge weight on my chest that is slowly suffocating me, and every time I picture my son that weight just feels heavier and the pain cuts deeper. Will leaving him become easier? At this point it does not seem that way. Hot tears prick my eyes every couple of minutes, I fear they will start falling and I hastily wipe my eyes so that co-workers won't see my pain.

I miss his sweet coos, his chubby fingers, his stern gaze, his wide open-mouthed grin, his shoulder shrug, his fuzzy red head, his chunky thighs, his deep blue eyes, his soft skin, his wrinkly neck, his little sausage toes, his yummy fat cheeks, his perfect little mouth, his sweet smile.

Sitting at this desk I close my eyes and remember the sounds of my son chewing on his fist, the slurping noises that he makes as he gnaws away on his most prized possession. I picture him peeking over his Dad's shoulder as he trys to burp after a feeding, with those bright eyes taking in the world, and his downy soft baby hair sticking up every which way. I try and remember the ways in which he has changed over the last three months and there are too many changes to count. He used to fit so perfectly in my arms, and now he is long and lean, and his little legs alone are the length he was at birth.

I love entering my baby's room in the morning, he is already awake and cooing while watching his mobile. He is trying to kick out of his blanket and is just starting to roll from side to side while trying to wrangle free. I watch from the doorway as he talks to himself and I am so excited that I have the privilege of getting to know this little boy. As I come closer I know my baby senses I am near, he kicks his little legs and as he bicycles himself nowhere, I lean over and coax a smile from him. Even if hunger has been pestering him for he will still stop and give me a smile before scrunching up his face and letting me know it's time to eat. I count my blessings and thank God that my boy is healthy and happy. He is a joy to be around and I cannot wait to ditch this office, race home, burst through the door and hold his little body against me. I long to pick him up, feel his toes dig into my stomach, feel his little fingernails in my neck, fingers tangling into my necklace, and just gaze into his eyes.

I tried telling him over and over again how much I was going to miss him, and how I would be home as soon as possible, but I think I was trying to convince myself that everything is going to be okay now that I am back at work. My baby is fine; he is with his Daddy the days I am at work. They will have a grand time together during their 'boys only, no girls allowed' days, it is momma who is having the hard time.

The work day cannot end fast enough.