It’s a good thing I didn’t write this blog post last week, cause it would have been all “woe is me.” Actually, “screw you, world” more accurately describes last week’s mood.
Rock hits Sona’s windshield and it needs replaced? Screw you, world!
My fender bender, the following day, in which the man at fault fled the scene? Screw you, world!
Air conditioner on the fritz–but not on the fritz enough for our warranty to do anything about it? Screw you, world!
Having to explain to co-workers for the 20th time why I can’t/won’t just spontaneously stay late to have yet another meeting during the week? Screw you, world!
This blog crashed, and I had to have four chats with my hosting agent to get it back up? Screw you, world!
Having to walk away from a screaming Finn, whose separation anxiety has flared up in the midst of our first week back at daycare? Screw you, world!
Yeah, it was bad.
Finn’s first week of daycare actually went better than we’d expected, despite all of this hemming and hawing. Yes, the separation anxiety is rearing its ugly head, again, but we can’t really blame the little guy. He’s had a few childcare shake-ups in the past month, and it’s a lot of change for him. Daycare, we hope, will bring with it some consistency.
But for a while, he’s probably going to scream his head off when I drop him off. And for a while, I’ll probably carry around a lot of guilt and bitterness because of that.
The first day wasn’t so bad. Finn hadn’t yet realized that this place was his new version of prison. He was so shell-shocked by all the newness, he barely even noticed when I left.
It also helps that his daycare is super tech-forward, and there is an app where Sona and I can follow Finn’s daily routine. We know what he eats (or doesn’t eat), when he sleeps, and we even get photos.
When I got this picture of him napping. On the first day! On a cot! In a room full of other kids! I was SO relieved. He’s a spunky little guy, and we just couldn’t imagine him napping outside of his crib, in a new environment, without a bottle, or a sound machine. We just figured there’d be at least a week of missed naps before he got worn down.
Yet, his daycare teachers are miracle workers, and they’ve managed to get him to sleep–pretty effortlessly–each day.
Still, there have been some adjustments. He’s wearing shoes for the first time. He’s in a class full of kids 15+ months old, meaning he’s the youngest. He’s the only one who can’t walk. He’s not allowed to crawl, here. He’s drinking half as much milk as he’s accustomed to getting at home. He can’t have a snack whenever he wants. He’s not the center of attention. I could go on.
Those things have made for a bit of a bumpy transition, and we’ve had a cranky monkey on our hands. Oh, and a starving monkey. Lord help the soul who picks Finn up without a snack in hand. He DEVOURS his snack before I even put him in the car.
It’s also tough on mommies, as is any change. We worry and fret and wonder if we’re doing what’s best. I carry a lot of stress about those things, and being preoccupied by them makes it difficult for me not to be resentful about anything that comes between me and time that I could be having with my son.
All other obligations become that much more burdensome and frustrating in the context of my wishing I could be there for Finn all of the time. There’s so many feels.
I have a well-meaning co-worker who often asks me to stay late for a conversation or a short meeting, and it really is just a matter of time before he unleashes the Mom Monster. I will give him a tearful 30-minute lecture about how difficult it is to balance work and home life, especially with a toddler, before the semester ends. I see it coming.
And when, on the second day, I got this photo from the daycare, I seriously almost lost it:
I’ve obscured the faces of all the other kids, for obvious reasons. But let me paint you the picture: It’s daycare. There’s a birthday party. There are even cupcakes! All kids are smiling, in an ignorant icing-induced bliss. Enter: Finn. My son, who looks like he’s been tortured all day. Whose said face says, to me, only one thing: My momma makes me come to this horrible place because she would rather be at work.
I know how unreasonable that sounds, but that I how it feels. That is exactly how it feels 90% of the time.
On Friday, I took Finn to daycare, even though I was off. I had a lot to get done, and his teacher said he needed to come as much as possible at first–just to get settled in. I had a lot of guilt about taking him while I was at home, of course. So, excitedly, I went to pick him up early.
I practically ran to his classroom, only to find they had already left for the park. I went to my car, rushed to the park, and couldn’t find them. They were somewhere in transit. I knew what I needed to do: I needed to just take my happy ass to the grocery store, let him have some outside play time with his friends, and then come back in 30 minutes.
But I called Sona, sobbing, anyhow. All my guilt had bubbled to the surface, and I was just really, super bummed. It was silly and senseless, but I felt like I couldn’t give anything in my life the attention it deserved: not my wife, not my job, and definitely not my son. I felt so defeated.
Fast forward to today.
Finn’s teacher said he’s “improving immensely.” Hardly any crying. He’s playing with the other kids. He’s painting! And participating in music classes! And going on hunts for leaves! All things he’d never do at home.
It’s good for him. My logical brain knows this, my emotional brain resists it.
And guess what? He’s walking! That’s kind of huge, right?! His teachers have really been working with him, and he was walking after having been there for only three days.
So, yes. I know this will good for all of us. I know he’s happy, mostly, and he’s cared for. It’ll get a little easier each week.
And until then, I will just sit in meetings, pretending to pay attention to conversations about whether or not we should have attendance policies, when I’m really just obsessively refreshing my phone notifications, hoping to have an alert that Finn ate “NO broccoli.”
Shh–don’t tell, Mamas. I know you get it.