This is going to be a pretty blah post. I mostly just want to vent about Noah and day care.
I pretty much feel like the worst mom in the world when I drop him off in the mornings. He started the new DC on Monday and by Wednesday the workers were literally having to pry him, screaming, out of my arms at drop-off.
I would love nothing more than to just not have to take him back there. It’s nothing to do with the center itself. He has just plunged headfirst into major separation anxiety, and it’s breaking my heart. Even at night a couple of times when we’ve put him to bed, he cries and screams about not wanting to go see “new friends” or “Miss Patti” (one of the teachers).
Everyone says it will get better, and I keep trying to remind myself that. Like I said on Twitter the other day, I feel like I’m traumatizing him. It doesn’t help that he’s also starting to get sick. Nothing more than the sniffles for five months, and four days into day care, he’s coming home with a cough and runny nose. And then I face the conundrum of keeping him out for the doctor (which is a judgment call at this point) and potentially delaying his adjustment.
Sigh. Continuing to tell myself that the days are long and the years are short. I’m glad he loves me and wants to be with me, but it’s hard when I have to leave him at day care to go to work. And he’s way too little to get it.
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Lately I’ve been thinking a lot about Noah and how two years has felt so long and so short in the grand scheme.
Welcome to The Family Math. I'm Misty, a third of the Math equation. I'm learning this motherhood gig as I go. I'm a freelance writer, a cloth diaperer, postpartum depression survivor, all-around good friend and collecter of Xena and Hercules paraphernalia (OK, so one of those things isn't true).














