From the moment your baby is born, and you enter the madness that is parenthood you are second guessing yourself. But crèche has added a whole new set of problems I wasn’t prepared for.
The Settling In Period - AKA Intensive mammy torture
On his first day settling in when he screamed hysterically as I left, they were the longest thirty minutes of my life. Worse still when we bumped it up to an hour and then two. The tears lessened, but the pain in my stomach and my chest grew. “It’s nice to have a few hours to yourself though isn't’ it?”, asked my husband. I mean yes but it would be nicer still to enjoy them. Instead I did a gym class and got a look every time I sprinted away from my designated circuit to just quickly check my phone… again. And the fear as you pull up and walk inside, ears craned to the direction of his door… is it.. Quiet?? Is he not crying? Oh he loves it, thank god. Only for them to bawl hysterically the second they see you. You wonder if it will ever work out, they will never settle. So what now? How do I tell work I can’t come back? Do we get a child minder? It will take weeks. Can we even afford a child minder? WTF am I actually going to tell work? Then the unthinkable happens. One day, they are neither crying when you arrive, nor do they cry on sight of the place. You breathe a sigh of relief. Then a new fun torture starts.
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They **whispers don’t want to spook them** Like It
The day you never thought would arrive comes. They have settled, they don’t cry when you arrive. They don’t cry when you leave. They like the girls, they wave and smile at their friends. They even sleep… Seriously though what sort of sorcery do these crèche workers have I want to know? And then you arrive one day, and your baby doesn’t immediately react to your presence - your voice. Doesn't. Even. Turn. Around… Let alone come rushing over to you beaming. They are busy finishing their little game. Thank you very much. Worse still to come I’m told, the day they cry because they don’t want to leave… I mean Jesus! I know we said all we wanted was for them to be happy in there, but just take a dagger to our heart why don’t you.
Crèche Plague
Fun fact, we didn’t even make it to the end of the settling in period before Elliot was sick. By the final day he had a bad cold and a cough, passed said illness to me by Saturday night, all in good time for me to start work on Monday. He thankfully had mostly recovered by the end of the weekend and could go in as planned. Meanwhile, I dragged myself half dead through the week, started to see light at the end of the tunnel and then the worst happened. The dreaded text from your crèche, heart sinking I peeked. Conjunctivitis. He has conjunctivitis, very contagious, he’ll have to go straight home and stay out for 24 hours. Oh and you’ll probably get it too. We didn’t even make it a full week of work. I am reliably informed I am not even particularly unlucky. This is my life now, godspeed.
The Guilt - the Absolute Guilt Coming At Me From Everywhere
Go figure, this is another fun two for one offer when you go back to work. I feel guilty all the time. Over everything and nothing. I feel guilty at work when I’m running out the door within five minutes of finishing. And even though I am in the incredibly lucky position to be allowed work from home. I feel incredibly guilty that he is in there for those eight hours and ten minutes. Yes I count every minute, you know you do too. Especially when I see how exhausted he is when I arrive. I feel guilty typing this as he’s down for a sleep while I try and work around him. I felt guilty when he was home sick when it’s only my first week back at work, so I felt I was letting them down. But I also feel I’m letting him down anytime I tell him to just wait five more minutes while I try and do something on my laptop. I feel guilty for not replying to my friends, who are wondering if I’ve dropped off the face of the earth, but I’m just so damn tired/emotionally traumatised, oh and don’t forget the guilt.
I feel like I’m not the expert on my baby anymore
Since Elliot arrived into the world I have been the authority on everything he lives and breathes. I could tell you without looking, where his favourite toy was in the other room, and where exactly under a couch you’d find that random ball he likes. I knew exactly what to whip up in five seconds flat if he refused everything else you’d made him. I knew what all his little faces meant, and when he wanted to snuggle and when he wanted independence. I knew exactly what order he liked to look at his books in, and when he felt tired. I was there for every new experience, and I would narrate it back to my husband. Now I am the one being reported back to and it stings. When I walk into the crèche to get him and look around at all the toys, it strikes me that I don't know what his favourite one is. I don’t know which Teddy he bestowed his love on, decided was ‘his baby’ that day and that gives me such a pang I could never have imagined. Obviously they tell me all about his day, but I have so many questions, more than I can fit into the few minutes pick up window. I wish I knew every detail of it, watched it myself. Instead I am missing all his new little firsts, all his new little games and find myself instead literally like a stray dog begging for scraps of information.
I wish it didn’t have to be for the best sometimes even though I know it is
For all of the emotional turmoil of him starting and even during the worst phase of his settling, I always felt deep down that this was going to be right for him. This has been confirmed with how quickly (they told me quickly I can assure you it didn’t feel quick to me) he settled. He loves it already, and I can see that. When I arrive he is always smiling and playing or cuddling one of the girls. He is doing things there he’s never done with me, and learning so much. I can see the little changes in him faster than ever. When they told me they were delighted just how well he had settled though it did give me a little stab. I felt a bit sad and guilty (see there it is again, the G word), I can’t give him all the amazing fun and stimulation he is getting there. Don’t get me wrong, I am a great mum. I do know that really, but I also know my little whirlwind. He is such a busy and active man, despite all the activities and fun we have together, I knew he was ready for more than what I could give him and I want him to have everything.
I just wish it could come without the heart-break, and guilt, and tiredness and please please god without the illness.
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