Twelve weeks is an eternity when it comes to maternity leave time, at least in this country. After 12 weeks, you’ve seen your babe through almost three months, and seen yourself through your fourth trimester. (It’s a term, look it up!) You’re no longer quite as wobbly or as gobsmacked as you were in the first crazy weeks, and you’re well on your way to a new normal. It’s a good time to re-enter the workplace, pick up where you left things, brush the cobwebs off the dusty parts of your brain, keep the career ball rolling, etc.

Still …

I’m one of the lucky ones — I like my job. Heck, I’d even go as far as to say I love it. I like the people I work with, I like what I do, I feel a sense of fulfillment there. That’s a whole lot more than a whole lot of people can say. I’m looking forward to coming back to the camaraderie, the laffs (there are a lot), and the putting together of actual outfits to wear to the office every day. Or at the very least, wearing pants. I look forward to pants.

Still …

And, I’ve tried the stay-at-home gig, and my extrovert self can’t take it. It is better for me to be around people — adult people who don’t need to physically be touching my body all day (or at least are much better at restraining themselves) for my mental health and well-being. It’s a kind of “being on” that is taxing in a particularly intense way, and working provides a break from that. It’s a good way for me to function in the world, and it’s taken some hard-fought years to find that out. True story: I enjoy working outside the home.

Still …

Tomorrow will be easier than today, and the day after that will be easier than tomorrow. Max will be fine, totally fine, and we’ll find our groove in less time than I even think, no doubt. This is good. This is great. Go team. High fives. Here we go. We can do it.

(Still …)

Editor’s note: We’re traveling back in time a bit to recount the beginning of Rachel’s life as a mom of three. She lives with her husband and brood in Decatur. She blogs at yestertimeblog.com.