I just dropped my sixteen-month-old off at daycare for the first time ever, and it was tricky. Before today, he’s only had one-on-one care, and I’ve only worked part-time from home. I did this so I could sneak peeks at our son, watch him develop, and take pleasure in the joys of his being.

The week before, weird emotions surfaced. Was this my own separation anxiety? Guilt over planning to spend less time with my child instead of more? Am I thrusting him into an environment he’s not prepared to deal with?

But I knew he was ready, and I needed to take this step. I would still keep him home on Thursdays, I rationalized. I would still see him grow and change. He needs to socialize now, and
I need to work a little more -- we both need to grow.

I admitted my emotions to another mom. She said, “After you drop him off at daycare that first day and get back in your car, just go ahead and let yourself cry. It’s okay.”

That day came this morning. I dropped my son off, explaining all his little quirks to the new caregiver. I watched him play with the new toys and get scooped up by the new caregiver, who showed him around and played with him. I heard him laugh. I knew he would be fine. After a half-hour, I kissed him good-bye and left. I heard him cry, but kept walking. On the way home, I stopped off for a coffee and a scone. Quiet time was mine again.

I entered my house, went into my office and turned on my computer. The house was quiet, empty. I would get a lot done now, without the distraction of my son’s squeals of joy or cries of discomfort. I stepped into the kitchen for a snack and found our au pair there, this being her last week.

She asked how our son is. He’s okay, I told her. She asked how I am. Fine, I said. Really fine. In that moment, I started to ball, tears flooding out from I don’t know where.

Obviously, our hearts know something that our minds do not. The bond with our children runs that deep.

By Cindy Bailey

Labels: babies, children, Cindy Bailey, daycare, mothers

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