The ticking clock

The year of being at home with my son is coming to an end. The realities of work and making money faces me after this weekend and for some strange reason I feel at peace. I was expecting to be an emotional wreak, wondering around in a daze as I count down the days. Hair unkempt. Body unwashed. Living in my dressing gown from morning to night. But I am not. I thought that introducing my son to the 'nursery world' would have me crying and banging down the doors of the nursery, rushing in as if my life depends upon it and saving him from the dirty clutches of his key worker. But it hasn't. I have glided into the change of routine and welcomed it. I thank God for that. I must admit that I am anxious of the management of the different elements of my life. I am not looking forward to rushing to and from work or nursery like a headless chicken. And I do hate the feeling of being 'forced' back into work, however, I do feel the need of going out there again and don't think I will be able to stay-at-home five days a week. Maybe just three? Its is Sunday and the clock for me is fast-forwarding its ticking...tick, tock...