Our first week of daycare is complete, and I am heartbroken. Maybe this is what all the moms in the history of momness mean when they say, “It will be the worst day of your life,” when you leave your baby behind. They are right.
July seemed so far away in April. I feel time and responsibility shoving me forward as I stiffen up and dig my heels deeper to make time stop.
I’m not sure what I really thought maternity leave would be like. When anyone asks how my time away from work is going, I tend to say, “Well… it’s not a vacation.” Every person who’s spent time with a newborn replies, “Of course it isn’t!” I imagined this time off from the perspective of someone who had never (yes, never) changed a diaper or been a care giver for anyone, ever. I thought I would have a spotless house, a home-cooked meal every night, and maybe even start-to-finish some personal projects.
In reality, it took me 2 hours to finish one frozen pizza, which I snarfed while standing over my screaming baby with one foot vigorously rocking his Rock N Play.
On Mother’s Day, my mom asked me if I felt like a “mom” yet. I said no. I felt just like me, but with a baby. I’m not sure what being a Mom feels like. Worry, anxiety, pride, joy, and a sprinkle of grief at this tiny tangible reminder of time’s passing. I am both relieved when he is asleep (yay! Me time!) and longing for when he will wake up and smile. Now that I have stepped out of it, I can see that it was the most precious time of my life.
We rocked, we strolled, we napped, and we grew. I turned on the hairdryer app full blast and jiggled his booty until his sticky little face was stuck to my chest, mouth open, snoozing. I took the time to feel the weight of my sleeping baby in my arms and the warmth of his fuzzy head beneath my chin. We sang and danced and fell in love. Maybe I do feel like a mom after all.