June 21, 2012 § Leave a Comment
When I ran summer camps, I was always struck how food prepared in large quantities, never looked appetizing. Even the most delicious of spaghetti, when stirred with sauce in a large plastic tupperware bin, doesn’t look quite so delicious.
I’m trying to hold onto this notion, when I am plagued by anxiety in the pit of my stomach each time I drop Logan off at daycare. Sure, this is only the third day I have done it, and surely even a great day care warrants tears and separation anxiety for a first time mom. But every time I drop him off, and I see a slew of babies littered around the room crying, fussing, and dripping with boogers, I can’t help but wonder if, much like spaghetti, lots of babies don’t look as attractive as one baby. Maybe if the room had two babies, and each of them were crying, I wouldn’t be as inclined as I am now to snatch Logan up and drive far far away from day care.
I never dreamed I would want to be a stay at home mom. I prefer fast paces, multi-tasking and accomplishment. I enjoy interacting with colleagues and taking on professional challenges. However all I can focus on during my first week back at work is, how can I sway the financial pendulum in our favor and stay home with my baby? I never anticipated the worry that comes every minute of every day. Wondering if he is being loved enough, held enough or feels safe enough without me there. Sure, socialization is good for him, and of course it is important for him to learn how to self soothe, but he is a teeny tiny three month old, I don’t expect or want him to learn such things in a matter of moments. I was hoping for a more easy transition.
The first day was torture. I clung onto Logan as my husband, and I walked into the room, and were greeted by the lead teacher who seemed less concerned about the crying infant at her feet. All I could do was stare at him, his cheeks stained with tears as he huffed, and puffed with every wail. I held Logan tighter, stared at this little crying boy and promptly began to cry. The thought that in a matter of moments, when I walked out the door, this could be the face of my own child broke my heart. I hadn’t spent as much time in the trenches as this woman, so an infant crying for any length of time, without being cuddled or comforted made my heart sink.
Maybe I was making the wrong decision.
Maybe I could learn to love the sodium taste of ramen.
Maybe I could sell my blood, or even better, my eggs! Surely some rich barren woman would want them, especially after she saw Logan, a clear testament to how adorable they are once they hatch!
We could move to a small one bedroom apartment in a questionable part of town. At that moment, I would have done anything to avoid having to leave his side. In one instant, I transformed from a career driven, focused woman to a frantic mom, willing to give up everything I have worked hard for these past fifteen years to avoid having to leave my baby in the hands of anyone else.
The second day was a bit better, and today was ok. My expectations have dropped from a loving caring environment, to “please just keep my baby safe until I can rescue him.” As I frantically look for alternative care, I cling to the notion that when I see my sweet boy’s face at the end of the day, he smiles, giggles, and coo’s as if to tell me that he had a wonderful day, and he looks just like delicious spaghetti.