Obviously, I didn't always feel this way. In the first couple of months after he was born, I felt like time had practically stopped for me. I was trapped in this vortex of caring for a newborn and never leaving my house because I was healing and it was the dead of winter. And pretty much all regular interaction with adults ceased (I don't count visits from family or friends because let's face it: they came for the baby). I felt like a trapped animal. My new normal was an isolating one, one that I was not digging much at all. I actually found myself missing work. I KNOW, RIGHT?
Fast forward to my baby's third month of life. Maternity leave was coming to an end. That's when things moved into the fast lane. Faced with an inevitable return to work, I was fucking terrified at the concept of my baby starting daycare. I was not ready at all. You know that looming dread you feel on Sunday afternoon and how it only increases as the day goes on because you know you have to get back to the grind on Monday? Multiply that by 234,038 times and you'll understand how it felt to face the prospect of leaving my defenseless, tiny baby in the care of strangers. Panic set in big time. How did he get to three months old so fast...he just came out of my uterus for fucks sake! What if he gets hurt at daycare? What if the staff there aren't loving enough? What if he forgets who I am? Oh Jesus, oh Buddha, I can't!
Fortunately, I have a great boss who was willing to let me switch to part-time for a little while and a wonderful mother-in-law who was willing to watch the baby for the three days a week I went to work. I really couldn't have asked for a better scenario to play out (other than winning the lottery and not having to work at all). I asked for the ability to stay part-time until the baby was at least a year old; that way, he would be old enough to be eligible for part-time daycare. My angel-from-heaven boss agreed this was fine, and my saint of a mother-in-law was great with continuing to watch him three days a week until then. I am one lucky biatch. As is my kid. He gets my neurotic, germaphobic, obsessive, meticulous, loving touch four days a week and a grandma who spoils him rotten on the other three days.
(I'll say this: I could get real used to a three day work week. Heaven. But part-time paycheck? Not pretty at all.)
And so we've reached that grand milestone: my baby is one year old today. I carried him to term, and I kept him alive for 365 days. I survived the shell shock of a newborn, the recovery from a c-section, profound sleep deprivation, breastfeeding and pumping and countless instances of being puked and peed on. I didn't drop him once. I successfully changed a few blowout diapers in public. We got through multiple lunch and dinner outings with no major meltdowns. I didn't kill my husband. My husband didn't kill me. My hair eventually stopped falling out as much. I'm always cold now. I discovered the joys of wearing nursing bras to bed. And I got to experience firsthand the extreme generosity and kindness that others show you when you pop out a kid, and it has made me want to be a better human being and to pay that kindness forward to others.
I'm thrilled to report that my baby did not forget me when I went back to work. He adjusted well to his weekly schedule. He went on his first boat ride and wore his first life jacket. He loves Elmo and Super Why and BabyTV. He went to the strawberry festival on Monument Circle. He's only had two instances of having a minor cold all year, and one of them seemed more related to teething than an actual illness. Speaking of teething, he's got three bottom teeth and has almost cut his top two. His favorite blanket is his blue fuzzy one. His crawling game is strong, and spring training for walking is in full swing. He can say "mama" and "dada" and "dog," and he can give high fives and will sometimes wave hello and goodbye. He went to Zoo Boo and his first haunted house. He sat on Santa's lap for at least five minutes without screaming and rode in a train. He met a Storm Trooper at the state museum. He celebrated all his first major holidays and spent them with family and friends who adore him. He finally won Chevy and Walter over by throwing food on the floor during mealtimes. He loves carbs as much as I do. He's really into Ritz crackers. He had his first birthday cake and went straight for the icing. Even though the world is crazy, he is surrounded by love. He is the luckiest boy ever to have so many people in his life who love him.
I rocked him to sleep tonight, just as I normally do. Sometimes it takes an annoying amount of time for him to settle down and fall asleep, especially here lately. It doesn't help matters that I'm more than likely exhausted and probably haven't eaten dinner yet. Most nights, I would sell my kidney if it meant he would just go the fuck to sleep. Tonight, I didn't mind the time it took for him to fall asleep; it was just under an hour. In fact, I was tempted to spend even more time rocking him and kissing his head and listening to him breathe. Maybe it was the fact that I managed to eat dinner while he ate, so I wasn't hangry. Maybe it was the fact that I got a few things done after work since I didn't have to pick him up today, and I was energized by that. Or maybe it's because tonight my boy went to bed still a baby, but he will wake up a one year old, and I needed to enjoy my baby one more night.
I'm telling you...blink of an eye.
