Hi ho--hi ho--it's off to fu*%ing work we go

Today, 48 is a gruesome number in our house. For starters, in 48 short hours my maternity leave is O.V.E.R. and I'm devastated at the thought of it.  Secondly, "48 Hours: Real Life Mystery" is about to have a new feature story-- East Bay Woman Vanishes on Eve of Return to Work! I've started working out all the details of how to skip town with my Sweet P but I keep getting hung up on the "little" details that actually end up being major clues to the FBI. 

*Six Flags season pass linked to missing woman used twice over weekend* 

*Employees report sighting of missing woman at new Nordstrom Rack* 

*Woman and child matching description of missing Martinez residents spotted getting frozen yogurt and snuggling at the park*

You see, I just couldn't keep myself from doing all my regular fun activities because this sweet girl makes me want to get out and enjoy the day.  Every day little things are SO MUCH BETTER when I've got my special sidekick with me and it will be an adjustment knowing someone else is being my stand in while I'm away. Because the reality is, I must work. I join a special league of women who are working mothers: a powerful and talented group that keep shit working well at home and then head to work and make shit happen there, too. And I know I will survive because I have the support of these strong women by my side. And soon enough, when I've gotten the hang of things, I will be a supporter to another new working mama. And that makes me proud! 

Truthfully, it isn't the actual work that I am dreading. In fact, a VERY small part of me is eager to get myself on a schedule and, in the process, get Sweet P on a schedule. Another, even smaller part of me, misses getting blood on my new shoes, fishing highlighter caps out of vaginas, and getting asked out on fancy dates by intoxicated homeless men. Am I looking forward to the slow traffic through the tunnel and driving six laps through a seven story parking garage while searching for a too-small parking spot? Nope. Do I get excited at the thought of being berated by some ghetto hood rat about how she could do everything I do but "ten hund'ed thousand times better"despite the fact that she "ain't even gone to Heald, bitch"? Not in the slightest. Am I thrilled at the thought of being intellectually stimulated and challenged on a very regular basis? A little. Am I stoked to "bring home the bacon" and have an opportunity to provide my daughter with a happy, fulfilling, enriched childhood? You bet I am. 

Wish me luck!