I don’t know if it’s an icy fist of fear that is clenched around my heart or the cold hard excitement of having a few hours to myself on a weekday that is making me feel this way. You see, tomorrow is D-Day: Harrison’s first day at Daycare.
The one part of me is eager for this next chapter of my life to unfold; that I will be back contributing a part me to the world that does not revolve around all things baby. The other part (more dominant at present with the event looming large) is wondering how on earth I am going to walk away from my beloved beautiful little boy and leave him (no doubt in tears) with a bunch of veritable strangers?
It almost feels criminal, akin to abandonment. Harrison, how do I explain thee???? “Sorry, but Mummy is going a little brain dead and feels like life has morphed into some sort of Groundhog Day. You don’t mind if she leaves you in the care of complete strangers while she tries to patch up a personal void in her life?”
So here is what I keep rationalising, in order to keep me sane.
He is not the first child to be left in DayCare, and he wont be the last. Hell, even my nephew who cried for the first year of being dropped off eventually got over to enjoy his time out from Mummy.
Socially, this is where little kids get the opportunity to flourish. At home, I cannot guarantee him three days week of group interaction. And as he adores other kids and has a habit to smile and offer baby chitchat to complete strangers in the supermarket, I imagine he will be relishing the social aspect in no time at all.
Arts and Crafts in my house? No thank you. I live in a unit and have barely the space to keep his toys in some sort of orderly area. Plus I am a (semi-reformed) neat freak and the idea of finger painting in my own home leaves a chill down my perfectionist spine. I’d happily participate in someone else home, mind you… just not my own!
It also comes down to the fact that I really have no choice. Barring a lotto windfall to pay off the mortgage, it seems I should re-commence contributing to that once more. Plus the selfish part of me wants to buy clothes again. Nice clothes. The novelty of donning only comfy attire 7 days a week has finally worn off. Time to bring out the heels and handbags again people!
But yes, as much as I talk it up, I know I’ll be no doubt paralysed by tears and fears as I make the slow walk back to the car come 9am tomorrow morning. I’ll do my best not to hide behind a disguise of sunglasses and a magazine in the park across the road…