Fool me twice, shame on me...

A week of milestones.

You are too young to know how to stick that thumb in your mouth.

Wednesday was my first day back at work. 

Adam was 13 weeks old. It was nice. People were happy to see me, Adam was at home with Shannon and they played and ate and enjoyed each other's company . . .the house was even vacuumed when I came home from work. I really do have an incredible, irreplaceable husband. And a sweet little baby who smiled at me at 5 o'clock that evening.

Thursday, my second day of work.  

Adam's first day of daycare. Adam was exactly 3 months old. Shannon and I both dropped him off at daycare at 6:45 that morning. Shannon was curious about the place but mostly came to keep me from having a breakdown, and I didn't. I trust them and I know it's good for Adam. I was sad but confident. I knew I was only ten minutes away . . . and believe me, I did stop by at lunchtime just to give him a hug. But I didn't cry. I felt okay, like this may be a fairly easy transition.

But when I picked Adam up from daycare Thursday night, desperate to see him, missing him badly and knowing that 4:30 couldn't come soon enough . . . I picked up my happy, smiley baby . . . and in the less than 5 minute drive from daycare to home, he had passed out. And I mean OUT. He slept from 5 o'clock to six thirty, when I made him wake up to eat (which he did, you can't stop this boy from eating). He immediately went back to sleep until I woke him up at 9 for his nightime feeding . . . after that I bathed him and he looked at me like I was the craziest person he'd ever seen (which can't be many, but man, he was seriously confused). I put him to bed and he was more than thankful for that.

And then there's Friday.

 

I woke Adam up for his 5:15 am feeding and he ate, sleepily, and went right back to sleep. Didn't move for a second when I changed him and clothed him and whispered to him . . . didn't move when I cuddled with him on the couch watching reruns of Boy Meets World on the DVR (leave me alone, they are mindless and mildly entertaining) . . . didn't even lift his head when Shannon came in to kiss us good-bye and ask why there were tears running down my cheeks. Second day of daycare.

I thought I would talk myself into the benefits of not seeing him for the day and getting him at night and on the weekends, like a fairly friendly joint custody battle . . . I hadn't realized that the day would wear him out so thoroughly that I would get to drop off happy, cheerful Adam and pick up the sleepy, cranky baby. I pay them to play with my adorable happy son and I get to pick him up when he's worn out, exhausted and uninterested in smiling at ME? And when I know there is no possible way they could appreciate him as much as I do my skin crawls and my stomach knots up... none of it seems fair. In fact, the irony is smothering.

So when I handed over my sleeping baby to the lovely teacher at daycare, with a few mild comments about when he ate last and the new package of wipes I brought for him, I couldn't stay long. I said my swift goodbyes and made it to the car without crying, and then drove to work with a golfball in my throat. Today was not great. No one told me that it would be the second day of daycare that would bring me to my knees.

I was left with a whole lot of "it will get easier" from co-workers/friends who have done this before . . . and managed to weasel my way into visiting him at lunch . . . learning that he was still a little hungry after his last bottle . . . seeing a clear opportunity for my getaway . . . stealing him away to our house to feed him at lunchtime . . . and then brought him back so I wouldn't be completely MIA at work.

So what, I took an hour and a half lunch? In the long scheme of things will it really matter that I neglected an extra 30 minutes of work? No. Will Adam remember the second-day-daycare-lunch-escapade? No. Will I remember it? Maybe, maybe not. All I know is I got a few extra smiles today and that kept me from sobbing from 1pm to 4pm when I picked him up (shut up, YES it was a few minutes early). And when I picked him up, we went home, ripped off his pavlik harness (because for my own mental health reasons I needed my little cuddly child), and went to see my dad in the hospital. And while there he was able to stop more tears.

I spent the evening with my mom and dad, visiting them at the hospital... keeping my smile, in awe of my Mother, loving my Daddy, and finding it difficult to make the simplest sentence come out of my mouth. I am thankful that we have each other and fighting desperately to stay positive and mimick my mother's every move. I am lucky. I am lucky. I am blessed. But mostly, I am thankful. I have too much to be thankful for to complain about anything.

You will notice the lack of pavlik harness. What can I say? Sometimes you just need a hug.