Someone sent this to me the other day -
I went back to work full time when Abby was 10 weeks old, so I KNOW the inner turmoil of wanting / needing to go back to work and the guilt associated with all of it. On top of that our daycare experience was not Maria on the mountain top singing or rocking and humming “Edelweiss” to my precious miracle all day. The daycare we wanted was full and we had to go to plan B for 3-4 weeks until there was room at the inn. I would drop off, cry the entire 5 mile drive to work, go visit at lunch and cry the 5 miles back. Finally I had to retreat to my world of denial (it’s a great place to be if you have one – all men seem to have it, you should definitely look for it if you don’t have it). Eric started doing drop off in the morning, I would get in to work extra early so I could leave at 5:00 (more guilt, work – that’s another story). During the day I would envision my little bundle being rocked all day by Maria and her day filled with rainbows and unicorns. Dumb I know, but it got me to 5:00 and I was so happy when I saw her face.
When Abby was 4 years old and we decided I would stay home with McKenna, Eric fessed up that he had gone by the yucky, first day care at lunch one day only to find the teacher rocking Abby ASLEEP (not to sleep, A-Sleep) – not Abby, the teacher. UGH! My instinct of her life being in danger was right. This was all part of his ploy to get me to stay home with McKenna. I had a new job as a sales rep for EMI music that I loved, but the evil daycare experience gave me flashbacks I couldn’t put in my little ‘denial’ compartment. We could afford it, hubby really wanted me to, shouldn’t I really want to also?
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The baby announcement (McKenna 6 wks, Abby 4yo)
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