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“If I’m not able to focus on my career after I have the baby, I am going to DIE,” I had told Mr. Candy in what I truly believed was an understatement. There may have also been a dramatic hair toss thrown in there for good measure. Not wanting me to perish and leave our child without a mother, Mr. Candy suggested looking into daycare options. Yes! Great idea! We were lucky enough to find a fantastic place just a couple miles away that our neighbor’s nine-month-old daughter attends. This place has a SIX-BABY STROLLER for walks! And REALLY CUTE BABIES! Which anyone knows are the two most important indicators of a credible facility. So we immediately put down a deposit to have Skylar enter daycare at the end of September.
Phew! Two months will be MORE than long enough to bond with the baby, I thought.
That was before I knew I’d be missing out on this:
That September start date…? Yeah, that’s now at the end of January.
I am fortunate to be in the position where I can be flexible with childcare. Many parents are not. But as much as I can’t bear to part with Miss Skye, I must confess that I am also going STIR CRAZY. It’s that eternal Mommy Catch 22, right? There is nowhere else I’d rather be. Yet my eyes have bags big enough to have “Prada” embroidered on them. My shirts have milk stains that I try to pass off as polka dots because I am too tired to clean them. My hungry baby is permanently attached to my boobs, making it difficult — nay, impossible — to get anything done, which explains why I am writing this column at 1AM.
In short, my sanity is eroding faster than Larry King’s hair.
There are moment I am jealous of Mr. Candy, who gets to leave the house and have conversations that don’t involve the question, “Are you pushing out a poopy?”
However, when I e-mailed Mr. Candy this morning to inform him that Skylar had smiled at me for the first time — with no flatulence! — he responded, “Soooooo jealous.” And just like that, I was reminded of why I moved daycare to January.