I'm exhausted. The cough medicine I have to take at night keeps me awake, so I wake up dragging and in need of many more hours of sleep. I absolutely hate going to work like that. If I'm exhausted because of medicine, then I need sick time -- but on my second day of work?
Work itself is mostly interesting so far, though it'd be a lot easier to do if I weren't so completely wrung out first thing in the morning. Then there's the guilt and fear about missing the children. My memory of time with them at home seems like a glorious, joyful one, even though I know in real life I often longed for adult company and a good challenging project to sink my teeth into. Ironically, even though Katrina's the one who misses me the least, and her stage of life is the one I miss the least, she's the one I keep thinking of and missing. She's the one I now spend the least time with, because our mad scramble when I get home with everyone doesn't include any time with her at all.
I know from experience that it takes a few weeks to settle into a new routine. Then the glaring thorns and their solutions emerge; the biggest problems will be clear and we'll start tweaking how we work things.
One thing that's not changing: I must leave work at 4:30 -- even ten minutes late is a big penalty in traffic -- and the kids must start the bedtime process at 7:30. The rest of the day can be worked around that.