The end of innocence

When Owen was six weeks old, Allen’s mom asked me if I could imagine going back to work then. I shook my head with a knowing look, but secretly all I could think was, “Yes! Let someone else deal with his crying and screaming inconsolably for hours on end…” But then week seven came and Owen started crying less and smiling more, and then he started giggling and staring at me with awe and delight when I sing Frankie Valley songs or pull him into a sitting position using his arms, and I thought, I could really do this forever.

Alas, when Allen and I bought our house it was with the understanding that I would eventually go back to work (you really need two federal salaries to put a roof over your head in the DC market). While we would have preferred to wait a little longer, the acting Assistant Secretary has been inquiring as to when my maternity leave is up, so today Owen went to daycare for the very first time. For four and a half hours.

My hope was that he would sleep through most of it only to be interrupted by occasional feedings with me, but apparently meeting new people and the abundance of sleep he’s gotten the past few nights conspired to keep him awake for the bulk of his stay. Initially he seemed to take it just fine while I was a bit of an emotional wreck, but he wouldn’t nap which made him fussy and then he didn’t have his mom there to comfort him which made him cry. He seemed to rally when I fed him at noon, but that didn’t last much past my departure and when I went to check on him at two o’clock, he’d only just calmed down. By two thirty he was ready to head home so we packed up the stroller and took off.

Were not going back tomorrow – with Allen leaving the country on Sunday and my leaving him with strangers on Monday, Owen really needs a day at home to recover. We’re going to try again on Wednesday for another four or five hours and then we’ll see about Friday. And next week…