Addicted to love
I cried more in the last week than I think I have in years.
Ian started day care on Monday. Monday was solidly okay. His “teachers” are very sweet, his day care is across the street from our office, I nurse him at lunch and he’s still getting cloth diapers and plenty of tummy time. He’s fine. Rich is fine. Work is fine. The very sweet Hispanic ladies watching my child are fine. I am definitely NOT FINE.
Every day from 4 to 5pm, I watched the clock waiting for when I could go get my son. I would scoop him up, drive him home, extract him from his car seat bucket and spend the entire evening sitting in the recliner with him, crying. I didn’t care what we had for dinner. I didn’t care what TV we watched. I would muster enough energy to pack his bottles and diapers and clothes for the next day but that was about it. I didn’t wash my hair again after Monday morning because it didn’t seem to matter.
Needless to say, this has been hard on Rich. He’s desperately trying to be supportive and stay positive. He would say, “baby, you’re holding him right now. He’s fine.” and I would look up at him incredulously and sob, “but in less than 12 hours I have to give him away again!” I would wake up in the middle of the night, look over at the clock and start crying because I’d only get to stay in bed with Ian for another three hours. I carry stress in my shoulders and by Wednesday I couldn’t turn my head to the left anymore. It’s still sort of hard to look down and to the right. My blood sugars have been high all week because I don’t have all those happy baby chemicals to keep them in check like before.
By Wednesday night I was a mess. I cried all night in the recliner. I woke up Thursday crying. I cried the whole way to work. I cried while I dropped Ian off and drove over to work. I sat in Rich’s office and cried. I sat in my office and cried. I called people and cried to them on the phone. I took my lunch and went over to feed my son and cried in the rocking chair while I held him and those nice Hispanic ladies handed me tissues. I left work early because I’d given myself a headache from all the crying.
In amongst all that crying I lamented to Rich that I just missed Ian so much it hurt. Trying to stay positive, he said, “you missed me when I lived in Richmond but you survived. You still see Ian at lunch. If we didn’t work together you’d see our son more than you see me.” I wanted to scream at him, “I MADE HIM! I MADE HIM AND HE’S NOT HERE WITH ME AND THERE’S A HOLE IN ME WHERE HE SHOULD BE!” but I just looked away and dripped tears on my keyboard.
It’s not a logical thing. It feels like someone has taken my arms from me. My arms are very safe over at appendage day care. And I can go visit my arms at lunch. I just can’t have my arms back until after 5pm. Meanwhile all I want to do is scream or sob because I’M MISSING PART OF ME AND THIS HURTS SO BAD! I know in my logical brain that he’s fine, but the mammal part of me cannot get over that there may be a mountain lion across the street trying to eat my baby and I have to get to him now! And that mammal part is not something I can just turn off from 8am-5pm Monday through Friday.
Everyone says it gets better. Humans adapt to survive and I suppose I can’t cry forever. But now I have a lot more sympathy for drug addicts. This cold turkey stuff is not going so well for me.
I have nothing but sympathy. It’s been over three years since I left my babies for others to take care of during the day, and I’m still fretting about it.
I wish there was something at all constructive I could say to you, but there just isn’t. I feel for you, that is all I have.
*hug* I understand and I’m sorry you’re going through this.
Genie, my dear, you are not alone in this. When Shannon went back to United I was the one who had to take both kids to daycare. Everyday. I dreaded that feeling everyday. I dreaded feeling like I was failing them. You are not alone in what you are feeling, Genie. You are a good and dedicated mother. You are not failing Ian. Trust that little voice in the back of your head. We love you guys.
I can’t give you “motherly” advice, since I’ve never been one… all I can say is that after a day of having the little guy sleeping on me, I went through a bit of Ian withdrawal myself. I can’t imagine how much worse it is for you.
This only means that you’re a loving, caring mother and you want to do all of this RIGHT. It’s a good thing, even though it hurts so much.
Just remember, if the mountain lion shows up, you’re only right across the street.. you don’t even have to get in your car. Heck.. you could baby monitor him from your office
Stay strong. You are loved (and your upsettedness is proof that he is, too)
I stayed home with my little guy, so I didn’t have the daycare blues, but right about the 3 month mark is when the postpartum depression kicked in big time. If this keeps up, please get help!
It’s been 25 years since I went through what you are going through and reading this post made it all come back like yesterday. I was in the military when my baby was born. When she was six weeks old I had to return to duty. I seriously (I do mean seriously) considered injuring myself because that was the only way I could think of to get out of my military service and get home to my baby. Living in Sweden now where mommies get a whole year off work with 80% pay when they have a baby just underlines what you and I know: having to leave your baby in the care of other people earlier than you are ready to do so is unnatural and horribly painful. I do so hope that your pain soon eases.
No advice, just hugs.
Hugs from us, too.
Oh Genie, wish I’d seen this sooner
My heart goes out to you, sending you a virtual shoulder whenever you need it. A few thoughts:
1) Let’s all move to Sweden so we can get a year off and 80% pay. I took a year off at 0% pay and minimal % adult interaction — don’t recommend that strategy for many reasons.
2) Worth repeating: MILLIONS OF YEARS OF EVOLUTION ARE SCREAMING AT YOU TO PROTECT THAT CHILD FROM THE WOOLLY MAMMOTH JUST OUTSIDE THE CAVE. Everything you are feeling is completely normal. Everything. Mothers are wired to feel exactly what you feel.
3) If it doesn’t feel right yet, trust your instincts and make the changes you need to make so that it does feel right. Go to work when he’s napping. Bring your laptop to daycare when he’s awake and work while he does tummy time on the floor. Bring him with you to meetings (I did this once at an adhoc offsite I was asked to lead, no child care so had both my kids with me, 9 months old, in the middle of the conference table, thinking everyone was talking to/ playing with them. All the adults enjoyed the meeting.
Can’t do it every time, but once in a while … 
We are pioneers in this whole working mom thing — we have to figure out what we need to be happy and change our world (or in this case, our microcosm) to get it. The numbers are on our side: Women now comprise more than half the workforce. Two-thirds of American women with children under six work outside the home today. Only one in five U.S. families with children is characterized by a traditional male breadwinner and a stay-at-home mom. It’s tough out there for moms, but know that tens of millions of your sisters are going through this with you.
4) It will get easier. Sort of. In a few months, when you’re not Ian’s sole food source, a lot of the subconscious stress will subside (well, at least it did for me).
5) My kids cried when I left this morning and it haunted me all the way to work. 30 min later my sitter called me at work – not for them, but for me, so I could hear them cooing and know how fine they are. It does get easier
xoxo,
H
I know this is late, but huge hugs…I am dreading the day I have to leave my little nugget in daycare. Kevin and I have worked it out so he will drop off, and I’ll pick up…otherwise, I know there is no way I wouldn’t run out of that daycare, call my boss, and quit right on the spot. I hope it’s getting better!
Genie Reply:
February 7th, 2010 at 9:13 pm
It is better. That first week was absolutely horrible. But these days he is more active and independent and I still get to see him at lunch and it’s all better bit by bit. But feel free to call me and sob to me that first week when your little peanut has to leave you.