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Today is my third day back at work. I managed to make it this far without breaking down into tears. However, last night my son was up nearly every hour on the hour with this congestion he’s been fighting and I’ve barely slept. I’m completely exhausted and barely able to stand upright. I’m nauseous and totally braindead.

I broke down and started crying this morning over the lifeblood coffee I needed more than the oxygen I breathe. My husband listened patiently, and nodded along with everything I was saying. He’d been there not long before me, having gone back to work when our son was only about two weeks old. And, honestly, he had it worse than I do, because our baby was barely sleeping at all and we were still working in shifts at the time. He told me how he could barely string together a sentence and would nod off behind the wheel while driving to appointments.

I was sympathetic, and really wanted to feel like having his understanding made my suffering somehow a little better. It did for a nanosecond, and then I went back to the swirling awareness that I would still have to gut this out anyway. Just because others had done it didn’t make it any easier really. The only hope I have is that I have a light at the end of the tunnel. I can do this, but as I’ve maintained this whole process is the hardest thing I’ve ever done.

Most of this week, I feel like I’m the second baby in the house, completely engulfed in the way I’m feeling, not really able to sympathize with anyone. I feel like a terrible person, firing on weird primordial impulse. I’m leaning on others, especially my husband, more than I ever thought I would have to. I’m so grateful for their patience and understanding, because honestly, I’m flying blind here.