Tag Archives: daycare

God Bless Daycare

If you are a regular reader then you know that I have been on an emotional tilt-a-whirl when it comes to childcare for my son. For a good chunk of my maternity leave I was pretty sure that being a stay-at-home mom was the only route for me. And I was a good SAH mom for those three months. We went out on walks, we visited every store and free activity in a twenty mile radius, and we laughed and clapped and sang songs. All. Day. Long.

Going back to work was hard for me. Pumping at work, missing my son all day, trying to find pants that fit in a professional way–that was a challenge. But I would be lying if I said there wasn’t a satisfaction in not reading the Baby Faces book four hundred times a day. Or in not sitting by the door like a complete stalker from 4:30pm on, waiting for my husband to get home.

Anyway, this past week I re-appreciated the value of spending long chunks of time with my son, as well as the value of having a great daycare.

We spent the past week in a beautiful cabin in Wisconsin. I packed a bag of twenty books to read, and we set off. (I packed sweat pants and a tooth brush, too, if you’re the type that worries about such details.) After a long school year, quitting my job, going through the application process for multiple other jobs, accepting a job, etc, I was very ready for a break.

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We had a wonderful time in Wisconsin. Truly, we did. Also, I did not read a single book.

I had forgotten how hard it is to accomplish anything when you are following around a ten-month-old. One who has just learned how to pick himself up onto any and all furniture, how to find and open pill bottles, and how to fling himself head-first off of furniture (or attempt to, in any case, we have to draw the line somewhere).

I would be one paragraph into a book when he would find a power-cord to munch. Or would pull himself onto the stone hearth and start reaching for the fire poker. Or start throwing items off the coffee table. By the time I got back to my book, I had to reread the paragraph. And by that time, my son would have crawled up on me, snatching my book from my hands, flinging it behind his shoulder. With love, of course.

It wasn’t really a romantic trip, either, since my son decided that he no longer is interested in sleeping on his own, preferring instead to sleep if and only if he is between me and my husband in bed. Which is fine, except it isn’t. If you know what I mean, and I think you do.

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Let me not get too down on the trip, because once I set aside my expectations of catching up on sleep, reading, and sex, it was actually a perfect vacation. We ate well past our caloric needs every day, discovered snakes and wild turkeys on our walks, and drank wine while listening to old records of Joan Baez and Johnny Cash. Idyllic.

I soaked in some incredible mommy-son time. I can hardly believe that he is just weeks away from walking, he’s saying mama and dada, and he has mastered the art of shaking his head to say “no”. It’s magical to see a little human grow and develop and change around me. I am thankful for every moment.

But it was also magical when my husband dropped my son off at daycare this morning. After arriving home well past midnight last night, it was an absolute luxury to sleep until 11:38am.

And it was magical when we went out for lunch, and I got to enjoy sipping on not one, but TWO mugs of tea. At no point during this lunch did silverware drop on the floor, bread debris float in my water glass, or food, eaten in haste, burn the roof of my mouth. I got to taste every bite of my delicious artisan macaroni and cheese.

Do I feel a tinge of guilt about being so gleeful to spend some time away from my son? Absolutely. Am I itching to go pick him up from daycare and smother his beautiful face with kisses? Absolutely.

And…am I going to drop him off at daycare for another “me” day tomorrow? Absolutely.

God bless my vacations with my son, and God bless daycare for the vacation away from him.

261755_10150290602379874_2436766_nRachel

 

 

 

This is Good: All of It.

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I spent most of my first Mother’s Day in tears. Even for a crier like me, it wasn’t how I had planned to spend the day. But I had the triple header of saying goodbye to family that had been in town for the week, saying goodbye to a house we had planned to buy, and preparing to put my son in a new daycare. (For those keeping track, this is childcare plan #4. Hubby astutely pointed out that we have had almost every form of childcare possible at this point: nanny, in home daycare, live-in care with my mom, and now a daycare center.)

Of these major life events, the daycare was causing me the most tears last Sunday. The idea of getting used to another stranger looking out for my son seemed almost more than I could handle. (Though the excuse to spend $150 at Target for “school supplies” for my son’s first day in daycare was some excellent retail therapy.)

SPOILER ALERT: I LOVE the daycare. The detailed daily report of what and how much he has eaten, the times and lengths of his nap, and the diaper changes and numbers of BMs calms my inner helicopter mama. Just kidding, nothing calms my inner helicopter mama. But it is an appreciated OCD step in the right direction.

No, my crying about the daycare has nothing to do with the quality or satisfaction with the daycare. Instead, it has everything to do with watching my beautiful baby boy go on his next big adventure. It is about seeing him grow up and go places and have adventures without me there.

I kept asking my husband, in the midst of my tears, “What if they don’t love him as much as I do?”

Because when it comes down to it, that’s what I want. A world that despite all evidence to the contrary will hold my son in kindness and compassion. A world that will accept him for the perfect person he is. A world that will nurture and adore him.

I look in his innocent face and think that there is absolutely nothing that has happened in his world yet that would make him believe that the world is anything other than those things I just listed. And I find myself waiting for the other shoe to drop, for the reality to settle in, for prick of the spinning wheel, his birthright in this broken world.

I’ll be honest, there’s another side to this coin. It isn’t just the avoidance of pain. The other question that I ask over and over again is… (I’m ashamed to admit this.)

“What if he loves someone else more than he loves me?”

I am the center of his universe. I am the most beautiful and hilarious and exciting thing in his world. And I just love that. I love all of it. I love the attention and the adoration and the acceptance. And if I’m being completely honest (and usually I am) I don’t want to give that up. And letting him go means giving him the opportunity to realize that I’m not the only amazing person in this world.

My husband and I were talking about our son last week and I said something like, “That’s my boy.”

And he replied, “He isn’t yours.”

I obviously responded charitably. Something along the lines of, “SHUT.UP.YES.HE.IS!” But I instantly knew it was true.

Ugg.

I get it. I know that my job as a mom is ultimately to let him go. To let him explore the broken and ugly world, teaching him to see the beautiful in it and to cherish the good. To trust that he will love and be loved by more people than just me; and that this is healthy and right. To put into practice my husband’s words: my son does not belong to me.

But that often seems impossible. Or leaves me in tears on Mother’s Day.

The week after our son was born we asked our pastor to come and pray for him. She came and gave the most beautiful benediction and blessing over his life. And she left me with the best piece of parenting advice. We had been told a lot of “get as much sleep as you can” (useless, useless advice) and “enjoy this time because just you wait, when he’s a teenager you will be miserable.”

In contrast, she said, “It seems like just yesterday that my kids were little, and now [my youngest daughter] is in college. And it was all good. From the time they were babies to now. All of it is good.”

Today is my son’s nine month birthday. We went to the park and he sat in the bucket-seat swing and he laughed and laughed as I made silly faces and kissed the top of his head when he swerved my direction. It is hard to believe that nine months ago I could only image his face, the dimple in his check, the blue of his eyes. And it’s even harder to believe that nine months from now he will be walking around our living room and climbing our bookshelves. In nine years he will be in school, and nine years after that he will be graduating from High School.

Each step of the way, I will be learning how to let go, over and over again. And maybe there will be some miserable teenage years. There will almost certainly be those who do not show my son the kind of love I believe he deserves. And I suppose it is possible that one day he may love someone more than he loves me. (Ugg, again.)

But I am holding onto my pastor’s words. Having faith that I, too, will look back and be thankful. This is good. This is a gift. The loving and the letting go.

All of it.

261755_10150290602379874_2436766_nRachel

For Starters

An introduction to my mom life.

It’s my son’s first year working as an actor in New York City. Even though he has lived in NYC since starting college in 2009, there still are days I am certain that he has somehow fallen in harm’s way and perhaps THIS TIME, he is lying unconscious and in mortal peril in a hospital or the subway or possibly the morgue (which would obviously mean way more than unconscious), but no one knows that they are supposed to call and inform his mother.  It does help, at least temporarily, when my son returns my phone calls or responds to text messages with “I’m okay, mom!” But like Rachel, I am usually very worried that something is terribly wrong unless I’ve talked to him in the last hour. Did I mention that he’s 22 and not an infant?

This parenting gig is the most overwhelming experience of my life to date and I wouldn’t change any of it for anything. It is full of wonder and love and joy so intense, I think my heart might burst. BUT (and there always is a BUT ), to balance the joy and awe, there is also this equally intense “worry and fret” thing that comes along with it. In these past 22+ years, my mind has been flooded with concerns both mundane and huge that center around the well-being and happiness of my now adult son…and it doesn’t seem to end no matter how many birthday candles we blow out each year. And like Rachel, there has been a lot of walking forward, putting one foot in front of the other, and trying to do the next right thing as a mom.

And in my experience, there is a lot of talking to/debating with yourself involved in being a mom (see Rachel’s thoughts 1-4). That’s why I believe it is important to talk to other moms and ask questions and then just GO WITH YOUR GUT.

I was a lawyer with an active law practice when my son was born and went back to work when he was 3 months old. I needed to pay the mortgage (my son’s dad was a young resident at University of Chicago hospitals), put food on the table and make the car payment. I compartmentalized and kept putting one foot in front of the other, but I worked to make it home as early as possible and to work from home whenever I could. Much of the time, I will admit, I was miserable – torn between being with my beautiful boy and doing what needed to be done at work. I worked out what was, in retrospect, an incredible daycare situation with Nick in a wonderful home daycare setting where he grew and developed skill sets I would never have been able to teach him (hitting baseballs, shooting free throws, fielding ground balls).

But I never stopped missing him. There was always a little bit of grief in my heart everyday. My head saw the benefits of working mom but my heart never quite believed it.

But day care moves into before/after-school care in the blink of an eye. We got lucky there as well. Miss Debbie, our angel. I learned as a parent there are many angels out there ready to help us parent. That village thing. And then after-school sports practices and games, theater rehearsals, band concerts take the place of the caretakers…and then they go to college. Sometimes 800 miles away from home. And still, there was and is a little bit of grief in my heart everyday. Because no matter how old, our children are still our children. And as parents we start letting go from day 1, whether we work outside the home or stay at home.

And the letting go is never ever easy for any mom. Because being a mom is hard work.

And yes, we learn there are more questions and few answers. Here’s to mulling over the possibilities together.

261755_10150290602379874_2436766_n - Version 2 -Karen