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?!”

I am writing to you about my ONE YEAR OLD SON. That is insane–absolutely bonkers, I tell ya. Where has the year gone? And can I get it back, please?

As much as we may try to disbelieve it, yesterday was Finn’s first birthday. This whole week, we’ve been awash in nostalgia and gratefulness–and also a little sadness, as we realize how many baby-centric moments have passed. Forever. It’s been a little weepy, over here.

Since Finn’s bday fell on a Wednesday, and since Sona is back to work, we decided to play it pretty low-key. We’d initially planned a party for the weekend, but we ended up cancelling it after there were so many scheduling conflicts. “He’s one,” I keep reminding Sona. “He won’t even know if we do throw him a party.”

Still, we wanted yesterday to be special for the three of us. I took Finn to the nanny in the morning, giving him some time to play with his bestie, Sidy–and giving me time to do some last-minute prep–and then picked him up after his first nap. I spent a lot of time trying to figure out how’d he’d like to spend the day and came to the conclusion that, like his momma, he really loves three things: good food, water, and wandering.

So, I took him for an al fresco pizza lunch (he ate two slices), walked to the neighborhood splash pad (where we sat for 20 minutes, thinking the water features were broken, until a 5 year old told us that you had to press the button–mom fail), and went for Italian ice.

While he was taking his afternoon nap, I decorated the living room with gifts and balloons, knowing that he’d either love it–or he’d be so freaked out that he would run (okay, crawl), screaming, in the opposite direction.

Sona went by the farmer’s market on her way home and picked up some fresh mushroom ravioli–another favorite–for dinner. (It was a hit. He ate the entire plate full in approx. 37 seconds.)

When he finally woke up from a long nap, we excitedly carried him into the living room, half expecting him to explode from excitement. That, he did not.

Instead, he did what he always does: carefully surveyed the situation, suspiciously and cautiously.

After a minute or two, he decided he was, actually, very excited–about the balloons. And he ran around, trying to catch them, hugging them obsessively. Gifts? What gifts?

We were waiting for a balloon to pop, traumatizing him beyond repair and, henceforth, instilling in him an insurmountable fear of birthdays.

That didn’t happen, thankfully.

After a while, he did take an interest in his gifts. Once he noticed there were new toys, all bets were off. He manically moved from one to the next, pointing and grunting: “GIVE. ME. THIS. NOW.” He might have been a little overwhelmed.

We also, of course, got him a cake–one of many, this week, I’d imagine. Even though we plan to do an actual cake smash shoot in a week or so, we still wanted him to have the pleasure of going at it on his birthday, too. So, we let him have his way with the cake, which really just meant that he licked off every single icing balloon like it was his job.

Here’s video of the whole affair:

I’m off to go pick up Mimi and Pops. They’re here for what we’ll call “birthday, continued.” More balloon-induced stuper to follow, I’m sure.

Tomorrow, I leave my baby for two whole weeks. And he is likely coming down with HFM disease. But let’s back up.

We’ve moved! If you follow us on Instagram (@allthefinn), you know that we’ve been settling into our new home for the past two weeks. The move is mostly to blame for my absence around here–coupled with a pretty hectic summer teaching schedule and my prepping for a 2-week graduate program in North Carolina.

Who am I kidding? This blog is like an old best friend; let’s call her Sally. She was a riot before the baby. We’d have spontaneous meet-ups pre-baby, talking about all of our wild plans for the future and downing a pitcher of white sangria. We were a BLAST.

Then, life happened. And now, Sally and I are lucky to get in a quick phone conversation, which is always, inevitably, interrupted by a whining baby or a FedEx delivery or an annoyingly insistent oven timer.

I’m sorry, Sally. I’ll do better.

The move was rather uneventful. Though, the weeks leading up to the move were mired in chaos, and I’m hoping not to have to relive them for at least another decade.

The good news is that we really, really love our new home. Sure, there are still a few odd boxes in the corner. Our master bath is still without a vanity or a mirror or light fixtures. We’re teetering on the edge of a breakdown each time the brand-new-post-reno-money-suck of a floor gets scratched. And I haven’t the faintest clue how to operate our new washing machine. (Okay, the latter isn’t really that much of a problem, seeing as how Sona does the laundry, anyway).

But mostly, we are very happy to be in a larger space–one without a labyrinth of boxes.

And Finn seems really happy, too. Part of the chaos of the weeks leading up to the move can be blamed on that little guy. He was kind of a nightmare, but I guess he earned it.

His whole world was changing. Any small place spaces he had in our old apartment were taken over by piles of boxes. Everything was in a state of transition. He could probably sense that his mommas were ready to knife someone at any given moment. And he had the worst case of diaper rash I have ever seen.

Like, they don’t adequately prepare you for the horror that is a real diaper rash during those pretty inane child-rearing classes. We’re talking open, angry sores on his bum. It was awful, and it lasted for a couple of weeks.

So, yeah, he wasn’t his happiest. And, in turn, we weren’t our happiest, either.

Yet, after just a few days getting used to our new home, Finn has completely turned a corner. It’s like he looked at our wide-open living space, which is more than double the size we had before, and thought, “Hell, yeah. I’m going to tear this place up.” It was a motivating mission, and he’s since started crawling, standing, banging, and damn-near speed-racing down our hallways.

My mom said he’d start moving as soon as he had the space to do it, and she was right.

Sadly, tomorrow, I have to say goodbye to my little guy (and Sona, too) for two weeks, as I’m leaving for a graduate/professional program in Boone, North Carolina. I’ve been half dreading and half looking forward to this trip for months. On one hand, it’s something I really need to do to give my professional and personal self a jump-start. My head hasn’t exactly been in the game, this past year, and I’m hoping this will help give me a boost.

On the other, I’m a bit weak in the knees at the thought of leaving Finn for that long. In the long run, he won’t remember it. I know this. But I will.

We are a little too attached, the two of us. It’s a bit of a problem, actually. Though, it’s the kind of problem I don’t mind having.

So, ultimately, I think the time apart will be good for us, but I’m feeling pretty guilty about it, still. Most of my guilt comes from leaving Sona, who has wholeheartedly supported my going. I don’t think I could single-mom it for that long. At least, not without my fair share of alcohol. It’s going to be tough on her, but my parents are coming to stay for a week to weaken the blow.

To make matters worse, Finn’s nanny share mate was diagnosed with HFM disease, yesterday. They were together all week, and it’s pretty likely that he will fall victim, next.

He already has some blisters on his bum and is drooling quite a bit–two early signs.

So, yeah. Not great timing, but I know there’s never a good time for this kind of thing. Now, we’re just hoping than none of us get sick, too.

I really don’t want to walk into program orientation, tomorrow, explaining that my professional peers shouldn’t come within two feet of my pock-marked face. Then again, it could make for a good excuse, should my dorm-mate prove to be a little too chatty.

I’ll do my best to post from North Carolina. I imagine that I’ll be spending a lot of time, sitting on my extra long twin-sized dorm bed, laptop in hand. (Can you sense my enthusiasm?)

Until then, send a little prayer to the HFM gods for us, will you?  We need it.

Sona:

It’s our fourth wedding anniversary, but we’ve been together 15 years, and neither of us are willing to trade that number in so easily. Still, four years ago today, we made a commitment to each other in front of our friends and family. One year after that, almost exactly, our civil union was recognized as a marriage. Two years later, we had Finn. Now, tomorrow, we close on our first home.

I’d say we’re doing pretty good, kid.

The thing is, marriage ain’t easy. We’ve been together a very long time–nearly half of my life–and those years have shown us that all relationships are decisions. You can leave; you can stay. You wake up each day, and you have to decide.

Sometimes, I think we’ve both wondered, however briefly, what the right decision would be. Sometimes, we’ve allowed our relationship to get pulled down by the weight of so many questions: Are we right for each other? Did we find one another when we were too young? Are we supposed to make each other this crazy?  Why? How? Is this normal? What if? What then?

But when the fog of uncertainly burns off–and it always does–I am left with one certitude: I’d choose you. I’d choose you every single time.

I love you, always.

Danielle

(And now for some photos from our wedding day, which we both think was lovely, but which was paid for with money that we both agree should have been spent on an obscene travel adventure. Take note, singletons.)

Well, so much for posting twice a week. What can I say? These past couple of weeks have been doozies, and they’ve turned me into a very bad blogger.

We’ve had a lot going on–good and bad. I know I don’t need to explain to y’all how busy life can be, especially with a tot. So, I’ll stop making excuses. Sometimes, being with the family has to come before writing about being with the family. (Sorry, blog.)

I’d planned to post about our first Mother’s Day, but I never got around to it. I shot a wedding the day before, and I knew I’d be pretty pooped. Rather than fight the brunch crowds, we decided to play it low-key, and we took Finn to the lakefront for a picnic. Best. Idea. Ever.

Except that Finn is absolutely terrified of the grass. And even though we put a quilt down, that kid wasn’t fooled. He KNEW there was grass under that quilt, and he wasn’t having it. It took a good 30 minutes to get him warmed up to the idea of sitting. But it was still an amazing day–warm sun, a lake view, our little family, and lots of snacks. Note to self: we need to do that more often.

The weather has turned in Chicago, finally, and we’ve been spending a ton of time outside, going for walks, visiting our neighborhood farmer’s market (yes!), taking Finn to the park, trying to fend off his grass-phobia. You know–just the typical summer city livin’. It’s been wonderful

Have I mentioned that our son is obsessed with bread? Yeah, he’s definitely my child.

There have also been some not-so-sunny days, lately, as Finn was struck by his first cold (which he got right after Sona and I were sick for a week, ourselves). His cold turned into an ear infection. And the ear infection led to antibiotics. And now he may have a mild case of thrush, which we suspect for two reasons: he’s not really eating and Sona has sore nipples. So, that’s been fun!

No, no it hasn’t. It’s actually been really tough. He’s also about to get his two bottom teeth; his gums are red and swollen. All of this is to say that our poor little guy has been out of sorts of a couple of weeks, and mommas are pretty tired.

At the height of the ear infection, there was one sleepless, scream-filled night. It was probably the worst night Sona and I have had as parents (and I know we’re pretty lucky to be able to say that). Nonetheless, we are ready for our little dude to be healthy and happy, again.

Of course, in the midst of Finn’s Blue Period, we had a house-guest. My dad, who hasn’t seen Finn since Thanksgiving (and let’s just admit that he’s basically a different person since then), came for a week.

It was actually nice to have someone around to entertain Finn when our tanks were running on empty. And, really, it never gets old watching your parents fall in love with your children. So, we enjoyed the visit more than we thought we would, even though things have been completely bonkers, lately.

And, unfortunately, things won’t be settling into anything even remotely resembling a harmonious normal anytime soon, as we have some big stuff coming up this summer. It’s all good, but it sure will keep us on our toes.

More about that, Wednesday. (And I’ll try to follow through on my blogging promise, this time.)