When Maternity Leave is Over

Recently I attended a family birthday party.  The sister of the celebrant is a new mom.  She was there along with her beautiful six month old son.  Like me, she waited a long time to have this baby.  He is her first and was born after her fortieth birthday.  She and I were having an intimate discussion about the love you feel for your infant.  She told me that her maternity leave was nearly over and finances dictated that she return to work.  She explained how she came to choose which daycare center her son would attend.  I could see the pain in her eyes.  She bowed her head when she talked, lowered her eyes to the ground and sadly contemplated how on earth she was ever going to be able to leave him.  I felt my stomach wrench as I remembered the days when I was faced with making the same decision.

My due date was December 30, 2001.  I had calculated that I would go out on maternity leave before Christmas and return to work five months later at the end of May.  I was finally working for the Family Division in the Courts for the State of New Jersey after many years of trying to obtain a position.  Working for the government can be tricky.  It's fraught with mandatory job postings, multiple interviews, interdepartmental red tape, hiring freezes and, of course, politics.  I had actually been offered a position seven years earlier only to have it rescinded because of a lack of funding.  I was thrilled when the job finally came through.

My employer offered a twelve month maternity/paternity leave.  Since there is no salary after six weeks of disability pay and my husband and I had just moved into a new home, I could only afford to take five months of leave.  We started saving and put a hold on adding a stone paver walkway in the front, a patio or deck out back and some other personal touches.

The second trimester of my pregnancy was concluding on September 11, 2001.  By the time I was in the courtroom in Mercer County, NJ preparing my cases for that day, I knew of the plane crashes into the Twin Towers and the Pentagon.  I placed my hand on my belly and felt my baby moving inside of me.  For the first time, I experienced the fear of a parent for a child.  These insanely cruel events were unfolding sixty-five miles north and one hundred seventy five miles southwest from where I was sitting.  What the hell was going on?

Two weeks later I was hearing child support cases in the same Mercer County Courtroom when my water suddenly broke.  I was twenty six weeks pregnant.  I drove to the hospital in Pennsylvania where I had planned to give birth. My husband left his job and met me half way.  He and my mom sat bedside as the doctor confirmed that the water sac, or membrane, had completely ruptured.  After receiving a steroid shot to help the baby's lungs develop, I was transferred by ambulance to another hospital better equipped to care for babies born so premature.

My son was born on October 9, 2001 at twenty eight weeks, two days gestation.  He cried the sweetest most beautiful cry when he was delivered.  He weighed three pounds.  His condition was stable until he was about a week old and then his little lungs just got tired.  "Chronic lung disease" also known as "bronchopulmonary dysplasia" set in.  He was hooked up to supplemental oxygen.  The following weeks were awful.  It was especially hard when other parents who had been there as long as us started taking their babies home and our son was still struggling.  It was like a punch in the stomach reminding us that our little boy was still sick.

He finally came home from the hospital on oxygen December 21, 2001 after a seventy three day stay in the Neonatal Intensive Care Unit.  He was discharged on oxygen, an oxygen monitor, an apnea monitor and several meds that I had to chart so I could keep track.  In truth though, I was no longer afraid.  I was so happy to have him home and I had been practicing his care for three months at the hospital.  My only requirement for peace of mind was to basically hold him all the time.  Sleeping with him beside me was a bonus I had never considered, but one I took to easily, resting my hand on his chest to feel him breathe.

By March and six months into my maternity leave, my son needed supplemental oxygen only at night while he slept.  My wonderful pediatrician and his brilliant RN and wife were always reassuring and complimentary of my parenting.  They had a tremendously positive effect in our lives.  With their guidance, we bravely weaned off of the monitors.  I slowly eased into an almost typical new baby experience.  The joy of having a newborn was finally mine.

I remember sitting on my bed with my son nestled against me reading "Goodnight Moon" before his nap time.  Then, I'd lay face to face with him on my bed and nurse him to sleep.  It was April and I would crack open a window in the bedroom and be surrounded  by the delicious aroma of spring air.  Almost always I noticed I would hear the sound of a small plane or a lawn mower off in the distance.    He usually fell asleep whenever I noticed the low, even droning of a motor in the background.  Often, I'd doze as thoughts of going back to work would creep into my mind disturbing my peace.  I didn't know how I could leave this fragile boy.  I didn't know how I could stay home and survive financially.

In July, ten months of maternity leave behind me, my son no longer needed oxygen!  The fireworks we enjoyed that summer took on a special meaning for so many.  My son's freedom from dependence on a machine was not lost on me as I watched sparkles of red, white and blue explode in the night time sky.

I was agonizing over what to do about my job.  I believed that we could not afford to stay in our home if we lost my income.  We were warned by doctors not put our son in daycare because catching a cold could have become life-threatening for him.  There was no part time employment available for me in my office.  Our families were unable to commit to providing full time day care.  We were uncomfortable with the idea of leaving him at home in a stranger's care.  There was no guarantee I would be rehired if I chose to resign.  I had waited so long for that job and my income was soon to reach six figures.  I was giving up a lot no matter what decision I made and I was frantic with worry.

Ultimately, I came to realize that the only answer for me was to stay home with my son.  I notified my office of my resignation with a heavy heart.  Though certain I had made the right choice, I experienced a sense of loss.  I never thought I would miss my professional self.  I was wrong.

I am left with a greater respect for all moms who are faced with the decision of what to do when maternity leave comes to an end.  I now understand why some moms need to return to their jobs even if finances are not an issue. Whatever the case may be, I for one, will be supportive and provide encouragement to all moms I know.  With either choice we make, a little bit of ourselves is left behind.