I mostly spend each day living in brief gulps from one moment to the next. In between tickle fights and time outs, I also sweat it out each day on the tightrope that is PPD and all its repercussions in my family, my health, my marriage and my sense of humor. Some days are good, some days only wish they could aspire to the high ranks of pond scum, but it's all part of my life. And it's all worth it.
Guilt
Know the best way not to start your day? Walking away as your child screams in someone else’s arms, straining her body towards you and wailing, “MAMA!”
After everything collapsed last year, we decided to start Silvia at preschool with Anna. It was supposed to be temporary, just enough of a respite for me to get back up and start breathing again. That was almost a year ago, though- which sort of negates the whole crisis mitigating nature of the decision. Oh, we’ve tapered her schedule down, bringing her from five half-days a week to two. At first, she loved it. She got to play with paint and glitter glue and they gave her snacks, yay! What could be better? I’d drop her off and she’d hit the ground running without a backwards glance. Of course, this spawned a whole different razor of guilt, but that was so much easier to set aside than what I’ve got slicing me now. A few months ago, it all changed.
She hates school. Hates it. One of the first things I hear almost every morning is, “I don’t want to go to school, Mama. I want to stay home.” Oh, she does well enough once I’m gone- they tell me she calms down after 10 or 15 minutes, and she’s usually cheerful when I pick her up. But that’s 10 or 15 minutes in the morning where she’s abandoned and alone and neglected and unloved. Not that she’s used those words, per se, but I can feel it in the hot sizzle of her cries in my head for the next four hours.
I hate leaving her when she is so unhappy. It colors every minute of my child-free time that day. I question every activity, whether it was worth my desertion. I berate my inability to effectively manage my time so I can fit everything in. The other side of this miserable coin is that I crave those free mornings. It’s only eight hours a week, after all. I work, I exercise, I start chores and actually finish them, too. I take the time to blow-dry my hair. I regroup.
Motherhood is the very definition of a two-edged sword. I want to make the most of this time while the kids are small, especially Silvia, who won’t be a baby for very much longer. But I want time for myself, too. Either way I cut it feels like losing. Either way feels selfish. Boiled down, the truth is that I am afraid. What if I take her out of preschool and it turns out to be too much for me? I’ll be forced to admit that, even after all my hard work, I still can’t stand on my own.
Of course, the opposite is true, too, isn’t it always? I’ll never know how steady I am now if I don’t try.
My oldest son went off to Mother’s Day Out without a hitch, the teachers marveled at how well adjusted he was and I of course patted myself on the back for being such a perfect mom. Then my son Ryan started two years later and I got knocked right off my high horse. He screamed so loud at drop off that the director would have to come in and help calm him down. I would call to check on him and could hear him wailing in the background. One day eventually he just didn’t do it anymore. I know it’s hard but just keep at it. Don’t take her out, she will get used to it and learn to love it.
Comment by Hillary — January 18, 2009 @ 10:20 amMy kids were always so happy to be dropped off that I was the one feeling rejected, unloved and replaced.
Comment by Jody — January 19, 2009 @ 10:10 pmJody, I know, right? Grass is always greener… *grin*
Hillary- I think I will leave her in, but it’s still eating at me, mostly because she USED to love it. The fact that she’s all miserable at drow-off now just leaves me floundering. I need to toughen up!
Comment by Megan — January 20, 2009 @ 9:04 amElla went through this a year ago. Daycare was the best thing ever, and suddenly, it was as if we were asking her to cust of an arm. It was so sudden and shocking, at first we became suspicious something unsavory was happening to her (beatings, locked in a closet for hours…). Nope. Just Ella being Ella. She’d just decided that she’d rather stay home with Mommy and Daddy as we worked all day in the home office.
Comment by Trig — January 20, 2009 @ 11:43 pmWe fought it and fought it, and it got worse and worse every morning until finally we just gave in. She only lasted a week at home before she was begging to go back to daycare. Bored to tears.
Maybe all Anna needs is a little reminder how fun pre-school really is relative to a 24 hr. marathon of Little Einsteins. (Not that our kids watch TV all day. They watch movies, too.)
Delaney, my oldest, was the exact same way. I must confess, though, that I only felt guilt for about the first week. After that, I figured she’d have to learn. I’m not kidding when I say that dropping her off was awful for more than two years. But the teachers told me she was fine 10 minutes after I left. So I decided that this was HER issue, not mine and that she’d have to figure it out. This may sound horrible, but I ended up actually proud of myself for giving her a chance to learn something on her own, completely out of my control. Now, she’s 7 and she won’t let me kiss her goodbye in front of her first-grade class… this is a lesson I must learn without her. sigh.
Comment by Janalee — January 22, 2009 @ 9:37 amThat’s a good way to think about it, Janalee. lessons we each have to learn on our own…
Comment by megan — January 22, 2009 @ 10:43 am