The days I become a mom.

Not that the 36-hour labor, trash can filled with diapers and various milk stains across my good t-shirts don’t give it away, but today I really do feel like a mom.

Note: Every so often there comes an activity that gives you infant flashbacks and makes you realize you are, indeed, a mom.

But today… Today, I Sharpied my son’s name on his stuff that is going with him on his first trip to daycare tomorrow.

For six months I was fortunate enough to be a work-at-home-mom for Koala; between emails and calls and loud typing, we bonded with each other, we consoled one another, we laughed together, we scowled at each other. There were good days and hard days, but on most days I thanked the gods of hormone control that post-partum depression passed over me (no lamb’s blood required).

But there comes a time when an Israeli mom just has to go back to work. In the office, in my case.

The search for a metapelet (caretaker) wasn’t that long or complicated; we took references from friends in our area and are putting our trust in that one (Sephardi, charedi sweetheart) basket. So far, I could kiss her, since she is more experienced than me and will hopefully straighten us both out as far as feeding well and sleeping well go.

I feel so uncharacteristically emotional; perhaps I should save it for college.

Or worse, the army.

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