7:20 a.m. Drive to daycare, cry the entire way. Does not help that song All of Me is on the radio. Though I'm pretty sure an Eminem song could have been playing and I would have found a way to relate it to my morning.
7:45 a.m. Drop Henry off at daycare. Do not cry.
7:50 a.m. Cry saying goodbye to Shea. Cry on my way back to work.
8 a.m. Arrive in new cubicle to see note from previous worker.
8:15 a.m. Successfully avoid crying when four people ask how "the separation" went but end sentence with "Idon'twanttotalkaboutit."
8:45 a.m. Break out in tears when co-worker hugs me and says she knows it's a hard day for me. Receive super cute pic of my little adaptable son. He certainly does not get this trait from either of his parents.
9 a.m. Successfully avoid crying (and screaming) when finding out that pump room is not really available but I should just bother someone with an actual office every three hours to ask if I can borrow their space.
10 a.m. First pumping session in which I have to skip meeting to use an empty office which majority of staff has key to making for not so relaxed session. Master double pumping but realize how many bottles and supplies this uses each time. And washing shields in work kitchen? Embarrassing. New respect gained for working moms.
10:45 a.m. Get a report from Shea who has already visited Henry (hello, attached parents). He's happy and even slept in a bouncy seat without being held.
12:30 p.m. Visit Henry who is hungry but happy. Feel better. Change diaper and get back to work.
4 p.m. Have to send mass email asking whose office I can use to pump. Grumpy. Finish first chapter in just-for-fun book. Determine I have accomplished nothing today except survive.
5 p.m. Leave to pick up my baby.
6 p.m. Arrive home to discover that dinner still has to be made, laundry done, dishes washed, diaper bag repacked, grad school paper written and house cleaned. Well hello, new reality.