I’ve been referring to tomorrow as P-Day among loved ones. Otherwise known as the day I tell work about my fetus. I. Am. Nervous.
I have no reason to think that it won’t be accepted with anything other than grace and kindness by most of my colleagues. And despite all of the assurances that I’m not going to quit, that I’ll be back and better than ever, I worry about things like mommy tracking or underplaying the work I’ve done this year in my upcoming review because they’re assuming I’ll quit when my paid leave is over. Never mind that work knows that I’m primary earner and need the health insurance. Or that I’ve worked my ass off for them for the past 22 weeks, despite being pregnant and having morning sickness, heartburn and unending fatigue. I spent basically all of Friday night and Saturday standing and working (and trust me, I’m so glad I took today off to recover, I’m really feeling it today).
I don’t have a set plan right now for how they should cover my maternity leave because I thought they’d probably want input for it, but I have suggestions. And overall, I’m not taking that much time. It’s going to be about three months. Unfortunately, it’s going to be during our busiest season, but don’t blame me – we started in June thinking that I’d deliver in March, right during one of our slower periods. My ovaries didn’t agree. If it was Canada, I might be taking a full year.
But yeah, I’m nervous. I can control a lot in my life, but I can’t control their reactions. Or the potentially awkward questions I’m going to get about fatherhood and working plans. I’m sure it’ll be fine.
I’m also so glad to let the cat out of the bag. To start wearing maternity clothes instead of hiding my changing stomach under blousy dresses and blazers. To explain why I’ve had so many doctor appointments lately. To let my colleagues know when the baby is kicking, show sonogram pictures and debate baby names.
But still. I’m nervous.