My Son Adrian

Daycare dilemnas

This morning, I dropped off 19-month-old Adrian for the first time at daycare. He’s been at home since birth, mostly with his mama and part-time with a dedicated babysitter, also at our home. He’s a lively toddler now; he’s old enough, right? I watched him scamper into the room during our introductory visits, enthusiastic about the new toys and curious about the other boys and girls.

I’m still not sure. I walked away from the daycare room this morning with his face scrunched up in dismay, waving after me in disbelief, saying “Mama! Mama!” My eyes filled with tears as I headed down the stairs, and the lump didn’t leave my throat as I walked home, staring at the empty stroller in front of me.

Why did we do it? Well, for the first time since getting on the waiting list, we were offered one day a week. It’s the only daycare center I visited that didn’t make me want to run, screaming with anxiety, thinking no WAY am I leaving my child there. It’s close to home. It’s small. And Adrian needs to learn Dutch, since he’s not getting it at home.

But an entire day with strangers? Out of his place of comfort? Constant activity, noise, crying babies, stimulation?

I’ll admit, on particularly trying days in the past few weeks, I fantasized about this day. The house clean, quiet, empty. Perfectly conducive to a solid day’s work. But now that I’m here, it’s not so great. It feels incredibly lonely without that little guy. I wonder if I will ever find equilibrium.

I sit here typing this, convinced that there’s something evolutionarily flawed about walking away from my baby like this. All my senses are screaming “retrieve your child!” How has our culture evolved to the point that it is somehow acceptable - even preferable -  to hand our children over to perfect strangers while we attend to “more important” tasks? And I’m dealing with this more than a year and a half after giving birth. I can’t imagine the agony that women with newborns might feel.

Should I listen to the stern voice telling me it’s time? Who is that voice, exactly? Or is this just a big mistake? Either way, I’m picking him up as early as I can.

Why I breastfeed: one year and counting

We’ve reached the one-year mark! Since he was born Adrian has nursed approximately every three hours. We made it through an early episode of mastitis, a nasty biting phase and months of easy distraction where I could only feed him in quiet places. We survived the transition to pump and bottle for those days when I needed to go to work. These hurdles have evolved into a solid, reassuring routine.  

Since about six months ago, the question started: “So how long are you going to keep that up?” At first I was defensive. I was well aware of the cultural debates about how long it’s “acceptable” to nurse a baby. The question also irritated me because I had done my research, and knew the benefits and the recommendations. Now, though, I’ve become cheerful in my response. “Five or six years,” I say, and smile at their barely masked horror.  

Just to state the obvious, this is also a baby-driven decision. Adrian LOVES to breastfeed. His affection for it grows every month. He is now fully aware of where the milk comes from, and signs when he wants to nurse (yes, he can ask for it!). Especially after we’ve been reunited: I pick him up, swing him onto my hip, and he looks down at my boobs and giggles. He likes to worm his hand down my shirt and make sure everything’s still in place. He sometimes pulls my nursing pads out and waves them around in delight (funny, but slightly mortifying in front of company). Just yesterday he played peekaboo. Put blue plastic measuring cup down mama’s shirt – pull it back out again – giggle, repeat. How could I give this up? These memories are breathtakingly sweet and priceless. 

Many women have told me that they had to stop at some point because they just wanted their body back. I can understand this, but honestly the thought has barely crossed my mind. Sure, I’ve had to radically limit caffeine and alcohol consumption, but that’s probably better anyway. Each and every breastfeeding session is an opportunity to connect on a starkly intimate level. I know not everyone could do it, or wanted to do it. But for me, I’m grateful that it worked out and we both enjoy it so much.  

And I have no plans to stop.

Ten years and one baby later