Daycare
Well, the first week of daycare and returning to work has ended. It was a bit rough in the beginning, but we're starting to get the hang of it.
In the beginning of the week, I wasn't exactly freaking out, but I was sad, scared and just uneasy about the whole thing. I felt guilty because I was looking forward to starting a schedule. The "Groundhog Day"- black hole - perpetual Saturday existence that had been my life for the past 14 weeks had me a little stir-crazy. I also felt guilty because I was intrigued by the idea of returning to "work Blaine," a part of myself that I had down pretty well pre-Oliver. I know I shouldn't have felt guilty about wanting to take ownership of myself again, but I did. I wasn't sure this guilt trip I was riding was worth giving my son up to a stranger.
I kept reminding myself that he'd learn much more from them about sharing than likely he would from me, that he'll build up antibodies I never knew existed, that he'll make friends, he'll actually nap and maybe ending up having fun. It didn't matter, because the minute I noted one fear, the rationalizations flew right out the window.
I was nervous that a) I would forget to pump at work and Oliver wouldn't have any milk to come home to; b) that I wouldn't make enough milk at work to keep Ollie eating; c) there wouldn't be enough milk that I've packed for Oliver to eat and he'd go hungry; d) that I would forget about him while I'm at work; e) that I would forget to pick him up; f) that they would leave him in the crib and not play with him; g) that he'd be asleep when I dropped him off so that I wouldn't be able to say goodbye; h) that he'd be asleep when I dropped him off and he would wake up in fright; i) that he'd feel abandoned; j) that he wouldn't recognize me when I picked him up; k) that I wouldn't recognize him and would have to ask which one was my baby; l) that I wouldn't cry when dropping him off and I'd feel like / they'd think I was a bad mother; m) that they would be very impersonal towards my beautiful son; n) that he'd be kidnapped or hurt; o) that my arms would miss his warm, snuggly body so much that I would hurt; and p) that they would get frustrated with him and harm him impulsively. I replayed what I thought he would be thinking over and over in my head. Where is my Mama? Does she not want me anymore? Who are these people?
I was also extremely jealous. Someone else would get to pick him up when he cried and comfort him. Someone else would get to rock his precious self to sleep. Someone else would get to have smiley time with him when changing his diaper. Someone else would watch him explore and discover new toys, new things about old toys, new people, new faces and new sounds. Someone else would watch him grow up because for 40-50 hours a week, I wouldn't be there.
I wish I could be assured that he would be happy and that they would take good care of him. Even though I had visited Tutor Time many times, I would have given my left foot to be a fly on the wall during his first week. I want him to giggle and feel safe. I want his daycare to not be just glorified babysitters, just someone to keep an eye on him, but people who teach him and love him. I want him to learn. I want this to be good for him, because, man, this sucks for me.
And then a couple of things happened to make me feel better.
Work - honestly, it was like I had never left. There are a lot of items that I need to catch up on, but "work Blaine" is alive and well. I just picked up where I left off.
That evening, Doug met me at Tutor Time - I was sweaty because I literally had run the last 2 blocks. Doug was amazing - even though he was just as antsy to see Oliver, he waited in the lobby so that I would be the first to see him! What a dream! Ollie was hidden from view getting changed when we made it to his classroom, but as soon as he was picked up and saw us, he SMILED! He recognized us! It was the most tremendous feeling in the world. I know how mountain climbers feel when they reach the peak, or when a novelist wins the Pulitzer. Actually, those two have nothing on this!
We took him back home and he had just enough in him to smile, coo and play with us for a while after his bath before he fell fast asleep. Daycare had tuckered him out. Us too!
Since his first day, Oliver has gone to daycare two more times. Each "Infant-gram" they give us (little report cards that detail his diaper changings, mealtimes, naps, etc.) list his attitude as happy and active. He's always smiling when we pick him up - kicking his feet in the bouncy chair or swinging happily away in the swing, and they seem to love him.
So I guess I'll continue with this daycare thing. I won't promise to like it, but I know it's working and I know it's what is best for all of us. It isn't the worst thing to have Oliver used to other caregivers. Maybe it means Doug and I get to have a date night sometime in the near future!
As a friend put it, "Dropping him off is the worst part of my day. Picking him up is the best."
In the beginning of the week, I wasn't exactly freaking out, but I was sad, scared and just uneasy about the whole thing. I felt guilty because I was looking forward to starting a schedule. The "Groundhog Day"- black hole - perpetual Saturday existence that had been my life for the past 14 weeks had me a little stir-crazy. I also felt guilty because I was intrigued by the idea of returning to "work Blaine," a part of myself that I had down pretty well pre-Oliver. I know I shouldn't have felt guilty about wanting to take ownership of myself again, but I did. I wasn't sure this guilt trip I was riding was worth giving my son up to a stranger.
I kept reminding myself that he'd learn much more from them about sharing than likely he would from me, that he'll build up antibodies I never knew existed, that he'll make friends, he'll actually nap and maybe ending up having fun. It didn't matter, because the minute I noted one fear, the rationalizations flew right out the window.
I was nervous that a) I would forget to pump at work and Oliver wouldn't have any milk to come home to; b) that I wouldn't make enough milk at work to keep Ollie eating; c) there wouldn't be enough milk that I've packed for Oliver to eat and he'd go hungry; d) that I would forget about him while I'm at work; e) that I would forget to pick him up; f) that they would leave him in the crib and not play with him; g) that he'd be asleep when I dropped him off so that I wouldn't be able to say goodbye; h) that he'd be asleep when I dropped him off and he would wake up in fright; i) that he'd feel abandoned; j) that he wouldn't recognize me when I picked him up; k) that I wouldn't recognize him and would have to ask which one was my baby; l) that I wouldn't cry when dropping him off and I'd feel like / they'd think I was a bad mother; m) that they would be very impersonal towards my beautiful son; n) that he'd be kidnapped or hurt; o) that my arms would miss his warm, snuggly body so much that I would hurt; and p) that they would get frustrated with him and harm him impulsively. I replayed what I thought he would be thinking over and over in my head. Where is my Mama? Does she not want me anymore? Who are these people?
I was also extremely jealous. Someone else would get to pick him up when he cried and comfort him. Someone else would get to rock his precious self to sleep. Someone else would get to have smiley time with him when changing his diaper. Someone else would watch him explore and discover new toys, new things about old toys, new people, new faces and new sounds. Someone else would watch him grow up because for 40-50 hours a week, I wouldn't be there.
I wish I could be assured that he would be happy and that they would take good care of him. Even though I had visited Tutor Time many times, I would have given my left foot to be a fly on the wall during his first week. I want him to giggle and feel safe. I want his daycare to not be just glorified babysitters, just someone to keep an eye on him, but people who teach him and love him. I want him to learn. I want this to be good for him, because, man, this sucks for me.
And then a couple of things happened to make me feel better.
- I complained to my friend, Alicia, about feeling like I had wasted the summer with Oliver. Maybe I hadn't done enough, shown him enough, spent enough time with him. Alicia reminded me that my idea of progress now had to be changed. I used to have a list of to-do items - make the bed, clean the fridge, wash the towels - and once I had finished them, I'd cross them off the list. That was progress THEN. Now, progress is judged by how well Oliver is doing. I had spent my 3 months WITH Oliver. I didn't do anything else. And he's smiling, interacting, developing on course and healthy. There was no other way to spend his first 3 months.
- Doug and I visited Tutor Time last Friday to drop off documents and Oliver's crib sheet. While there, I spoke with the woman, Cherie, who would be taking care of him the most. She was so caring and patient and answered all of my questions. I could tell she just wanted to tell me that everything would be fine to get rid of me, but she didn't. She made me feel much better so I gave her a hug.
Here's Ollie - excited about all of us being awake so early together!
Here I am. Waaa.
Work - honestly, it was like I had never left. There are a lot of items that I need to catch up on, but "work Blaine" is alive and well. I just picked up where I left off.
That evening, Doug met me at Tutor Time - I was sweaty because I literally had run the last 2 blocks. Doug was amazing - even though he was just as antsy to see Oliver, he waited in the lobby so that I would be the first to see him! What a dream! Ollie was hidden from view getting changed when we made it to his classroom, but as soon as he was picked up and saw us, he SMILED! He recognized us! It was the most tremendous feeling in the world. I know how mountain climbers feel when they reach the peak, or when a novelist wins the Pulitzer. Actually, those two have nothing on this!
We took him back home and he had just enough in him to smile, coo and play with us for a while after his bath before he fell fast asleep. Daycare had tuckered him out. Us too!
Since his first day, Oliver has gone to daycare two more times. Each "Infant-gram" they give us (little report cards that detail his diaper changings, mealtimes, naps, etc.) list his attitude as happy and active. He's always smiling when we pick him up - kicking his feet in the bouncy chair or swinging happily away in the swing, and they seem to love him.
So I guess I'll continue with this daycare thing. I won't promise to like it, but I know it's working and I know it's what is best for all of us. It isn't the worst thing to have Oliver used to other caregivers. Maybe it means Doug and I get to have a date night sometime in the near future!
As a friend put it, "Dropping him off is the worst part of my day. Picking him up is the best."
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