With the circumcision situation, umbilical cord malfunction, and two month vaccinations behind us, the thought and process of returning to work has elevated my stress level to say, well, a place I'd rather it not be. I should be enjoying my last week and a half of maternity leave, not stressing about its end. And so it goes ...
A deadening sensation sets in each time I think of not being Tucker's primary care giver during the day. I just gave life to this amazing young man and now I am abandoning him to the best, yet affordable, person we can find. My womb hurts.
If not me, who to subsequently raise my son?
I visited a daycare yesterday (I had to at least perform my due diligence of this somewhat affordable option). It made me want to cry. No, it made me want to weep.
There was this odor. Not just an odor of everything doused in spit up. But an old sweaty, mildew in the carpet odor. The kind of odor that makes you glad you are wearing shoes and won't let you put your poor kid down for a moment. It was THAT odor and I immediately wanted to leave.
Then I saw the cribs. Ten sad cribs. Ten sad, white, aluminum cribs. They looked like something in an insane asylum, only who puts babies in an insane asylum? Was this Baby Interrupted? At any moment was Angelina Jolie going to come running around the corner to scream at me? No, this was not the place for my child. Not this daycare.
I'm not completely against daycare. I'm sure there are some good, non-stinky, completely sane ones and I do love the idea of the structure and expertise they give your child. However, dropping an infant off in a strange place just with people you don't know does not sit well with me. Here comes that deadening feeling again...
Not that leaving my child at home with a stranger makes me feel any better. Here is where we are lucky. God bless my lucky stars on this one lucky. Brian works from home, providing a sense of relief, a security blanket of sorts allowing us to comfortably build a relationship with a nanny under Brian's supervision or backup, whichever it may be. Tucker doesn't need a June Cleaver or Mary Poppins as a nanny because he has someone even better there, his daddy.
And here is hoping for my own luck. I work as a consultant for a big company, so I periodically have to interview to find an assignment to apply my expertise to. I had an interview yesterday for a job assignment. If, cross my fingers, if I get this job assignment I'll be able to work from home as well, keeping a well tuned ear on Tucker, feeding him during the day instead of pumping in some unforeseen place, and always within range to snuggle him close if my separation anxiety insists.
Now cross your fingers that we can also afford the nanny.