Bitter. Sweet.

This morning when I brought Emma to daycare, I had one of those d’oh! moments when I realized that I had forgotten to bring her milk.  Daycare had let me know the night before that Emma was out, and even though I’d made a mental note to bring more in from the freezer at home, and even though I remembered for a split-second at 6:15 this morning, I still forgot to pack up a bag and bring it in.  At least I didn’t pack a bag of hard-won* milk and leave it on the counter to spoil!

Since JMT wasn’t available for a milk-run this morning, and since I had a meeting that would keep me from going home to get more, I decided to go over at lunch-time today to nurse Emma.  All morning I stressed about my meetings and time, and whether I’d get a chance to eat anything since I hadn’t packed a lunch.  I also noted the irony that one of the main reasons I gave for choosing this daycare was its proximity to my office so that I could go nurse at lunch, and this was the first time I was actually going to go do it.

11:00 rolled around and as I headed over to daycare all the little stresses of the morning melted away.  When I got there, the bigger kids were playing outside and Emma was napping peacefully in the bassinet.  I stood over the bassinet for a few moments, watching her sleep… her warm rosy cheeks, her eyelids fluttering, fist thrust above her head in cherubic protest.  I let her wake up slowly as I pulled away her blanket, and I delighted when she finally opened her eyes, saw it was me and smiled from ear to ear.  We sat outside to nurse.  The weather today is spectacular.  A perfect early summer day in Colorado.  About 75 degrees with a light breeze.  I sat in a patio chair near where the bigger kids were playing, but soon we became the main event**.  Emma would hardly concentrate on nursing because six little pairs of eyes and hands were all drawn to her.  She giggled and grinned at all of them, until finally they were shooed away by the daycare provider. 

I want to remember this moment forever.  Emma, warm and rosy from her nap, nestled sweetly in my arms, the warm breeze, the giggle and banter of a yard full of little people.  When Emma was done nursing, I sat with her for as long as my watch and daytimer would allow.  I rested my lips on the top of her head and her wispy hair tickled my cheeks.  She watched the bigger kids with rapt attention, but leaned hard against me.  I fought tears then, as I do now, knowing that this moment, just like Emma’s babyhood, was fleeting.  And then I handed her over to the daycare provider, whisked back to work, and the day resumed.

I am struck by the perfection of those moments with my baby.  I never want to forget the warmth and weight of her in my arms and the sweet smell of her hair.  Days like this, I want to pack up my desk and never look back.  I want to be Emma’s full-time mom, not a part-time employee.  I am blessed to work at a job I enjoy that allows me more flexibilities and benefits than I deserve.  But really, I am treading water here for six hours a day while I wait to see my girl again.  My mind is never fully focused on the task at hand; my heart is never fully committed to my work.

But do I really want to chuck it all and stay at home?  My main worry is that deciding to stay home would be a decision I couldn’t easily unmake.  I could certainly find work again, but a job like my current one only comes around once in a career—and then only if you’re very lucky.  And are afternoons like this one not really real?  Are they more like summer camp romances than real-life relationships?  Are all the emotions and sensations heightened because the end-date is known and you’re trying to soak in every moment before you’re on the bus back home?  Staying at home would not be filled with moments like this, or at least not moments I would recognize, because staying at home would be full of to-do lists and grocery trips and housecleaning and dirty diapers and corner cutting and penny pinching.  Every afternoon would not be 75 degrees with a warm breeze and the sounds of happy children playing outside.  But maybe some would.  And would that be enough?

 

*Some day I need to write about my love/hate relationship with pumping.  For now, let it be said that I’m only pumping enough for one bottle a day, which daycare thoughtfully divides up and uses to sweeten the formula that we’re using to supplement my wimpy supply.

**One of the older kids asked where her food was, and I had a heck of a time thinking about how to explain nursing to a three-year-old.  I wonder how many unusual dinner-time conversations will be sparked by my afternoon visit to daycare.  I realize now that I will need to perfect my explanation of where milk comes from before the next toddler starts asking me questions!