Disclaimer: This post has a lot to do with Finn–it also has nothing to do with Finn. That is, it’s not about him, explicitly, but it is also very much about him. Am I killing you with my vagueness, yet?

This past year has brought with it a lot of change: parenthood, home ownership, the loss of a lot of quality time between Sona and I, Sona turning 35 (which seems OLD–I’m sorry, everyone over 35, but I definitely feel like we’re tipping some sort of aging scale, here). There have been other things, too.

It has, in a lot of ways, been the best year of my life. Having Finn is the greatest thing that has ever happened to me, and I have not spent a single second–not even one–regretting our decision to have a baby.  (At least, not since he was born. When Sona was pregnant, there were MANY seconds spent wondering, “What the hell did we get ourselves into?”)

But I have spent a lot of time, regretting, lately. I’ve spent a lot of time asking myself one question, over and over again: are we–am I–doing it all wrong?

As an English professor, I understand your urge to ask a bevy of follow-up questions: What is “it”? Wrong in what way? Who is this “we” you speak of? This is all frustratingly nonspecific.

Maybe I’ve just been spending too much time in my head, which is something I’m often guilty of doing. Or maybe this is just my version of a mid-life crisis. Either way, I’ve been feeling pretty forlorn, if you assess things generously–or pretty morose, if you are less than generous. (Sona would most definitely go with the latter.)

I’ve just had this creeping, overwhelming sense that we are doing all sorts of things with our lives that we are going to regret having done, later–or that we AREN’T doing things that will make us just as regretful about having missed.

This is the trap, I know, of being a working parent in our country. It’s The Busy Trap, as one of my favorite writers, Tim Kreider, notes. Nonetheless, it’s something that I’ve become so acutely aware of, lately, that I can’t seem to pull myself out from under the heavy cloud of regret that I know is a-coming.

I’m talking in circles, here, I know. I could try to be more specific. I could say that we’re working too much. That I’ve taken on new responsibilities at work and a job I usually love has turned into a job that’s a source of a good bit of stress. That our lives are consumed by to-do lists that never seem to end. That I’m spending a large chunk of the money I make while working, paying for someone else to spend time with my son. That we spend 80% of our days getting shit done and 20% of our days making memories. That we let the stress from all of those tasks overshadow any potential joy.  That I feel like I’m constantly having to ask my wife to step away from her chores and just enjoy our little family. That my wife is always having to ask me for attention. That we have a beautiful home, which I adore, but this home requires that we work more and enjoy less. That one day we will look back and recognize that we spent way too little time having fun and way too much time worrying. That my nanny spends 8 hours a day with my son, and I get 3.

ALL OF THIS.

All of this, coupled with my own neuroses–a joie de vivre that is damn-near crippling. An incurable sense of wanderlust. A burdening desire to do something BIG–have a great adventure, give it all up, invent an entirely new life. An idealism that, though I come by it honestly, sets my expectations for my own life immeasurably high.

This waxing philosophical is annoying me–even as I type. It reeks of privilege and the run-of-the-mill middle-class, mid-life discontentment. I know how it sounds. I do.

But still, something is brewing–and something needs to change.

And, because pictures of Finn make everything better, here he is, nearly swimming in beans:

Well, our nanny share lasted 8 months.

The truth is, it was a pretty amicable–albeit still stressful–break-up. And it’s probably best for everyone who was involved.

Finn–and his mommas–really loved his nanny. She was trustworthy and experienced, and we never felt anything but totally comfortably dumping him–I mean lovingly placing him–in her care. But the fit with The Other Mom was never quite as perfect.

From the beginning, there were little issues. She complained a lot about Finn’s separation anxiety and crying, often making us feel even worse than we already did when we knew he was having a hard time. She privileged her daughter’s experience over Finn’s. And she felt like our nanny was her nanny, as she was the one who’d originally found her.

Hello, red flags! We see you waving yourselves all up in our faces!

It really wasn’t that bad, but it was enough to make us feel insecure about our childcare situation–a situation that was costing us a pretty penny.

Truly, of all the life changes and stressors that accompany having a baby, I can’t think of any nearly as frustrating and gut-wrenching and all-consuming as having to find good childcare. It is the thing that has kept me up the most at night.

So, having to grapple with an incessantly nagging concern that we may–at any moment–need to find new childcare took its toll.

Further, even though we really loved our nanny, she wasn’t always completely dependable. The problem with having a nanny is that, if they are sick or absent, you are left hanging. I had to cancel classes last semester more than I’ve ever cancelled classes in all of my years teaching. Since we don’t have any family nearby, we didn’t have anyone to call last-minute, should we need help.

Fast forward to July. I got a call from The Other Mom–three weeks after we’d moved and while I was in the midst of my two-week graduate program in North Caroline. She explained, tearfully, that she had to leave the share and mentioned (a little presumptuously, for my taste) that she was taking our nanny with her. She found another family willing to take on more hours with the nanny, therefore sharing more of the financial burden.

At first, Sona and I were in a state of shock. The separation anxiety had just gotten better. Finn and his nannymate, a little girl his age, LOVE spending time together. We thought we’d finally hit our groove.

Really, we just had been through such a tumultuous and exhausting summer, we really couldn’t stand the thought of having to do another nanny search. Or make new arrangements. Or weather through the first few weeks of those new arrangements, having to wonder how Finn is doing and whether he’s being well cared for.

We tried, in vain, to find another share. We gave up on that pretty quickly.

Then, we bit the bullet and acknowledged what we’d both known for a while, now: it’s time for daycare. There are LOTS of reasons daycare will be better for us as a family, including the fact that it’s more dependable, more consistent, and–mostly–will give Finn plenty of social interaction, which he seems to really love.

The daycare we chose, which is very close to our new place, seems super. It’s new and clean. It gets rave reviews. The kids get all-organic meals (you don’t even know how much time it will save me to not have to pack his breakfast and lunch, each day). The classes are structured and built around a lot of playful learning: art, music, reading, outdoor play, etc.

It’s a little more expensive, but it won’t be as much as we’d expected.

Ultimately, I think it will better for everyone involved. Because Finn is waitlisted until October, we had to find a temporary solution. So, for the next 6 weeks, the niece of our old nanny–who is a nanny herself–will be coming to our home and watching Finn. He really seems to like her.

When I dropped Finn off at the nanny share for the last time on Wednesday morning, I was so–unexpectedly–emotional. I burst into tears, saying goodbye to the women who has cared for him since he was only 5 months old. He was a baby, then. He’s a toddler, now.

I recognized that our moving on also symbolized the end of a very special stage in his life, and I wasn’t completely ready to face that, yet. I’m still not completely ready to face that–but I am ready to have some stability and consistency. And not to have to wonder, “What the *!$% can I pack this kid for lunch, today?!”