Posts Tagged ‘childhood’

Where I Come From

Friday, April 10, 2015
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past-present-futureAt some point during my formative years, I began asking “where did I come from?”

I wasn’t curious about biology and human reproduction. Well, that’s not exactly true. I was curious about biology and human reproduction, but I was even more curious about my family history.

Perhaps my interest was piqued by peers who proclaimed they were descendants of famous historical figures. I was convinced that my family tree was a common Elm while everyone else’s was a Giant Sequoia.

All these years later, I’m inclined to think my classmates had active imaginations and an innate ability to stretch the truth. But at the at the time, I just wanted to be related to someone famous.

“Your great-grandmother was a Houston, and you’re related to Sam Houston,” my mother told me. That wasn’t a lie. I am related to Sam Houston. I’m just not related to THE Sam Houston. My pedigree, or lack of it, had been confirmed. I was a mutt.

Decades later, before the birth of my son, my interest in family history was renewed.

There is something about babies that binds us to our past. We realize that our existence is completely dependent on previous generations and that we will forever be connected to people we never met.

As I began to pursue my family’s history, so did my husband, although he had an unfair advantage.

His uncle Jack was so passionate about genealogy that he actually wrote a book about the family patriarch who moved from Bavaria, Germany to the small village of Shepherdstown, West Virginia only to be thrust into battle during the Civil War. It was a good story, and my husband took pride in his Bavarian roots. So much so that he was excited when he submitted his DNA to his surname family group in Bavaria. He knew he would discover even more about his family.

He did find out more – just not in the way he expected.

“Your DNA doesn’t match anyone in this group,” he was told. “Do you want us to expand the search outside of the surname and the region?”

He agreed while still insisting that he was German. When the results came back indicating he had roots in Denmark, he blamed the Vikings.

“They pillaged German villages all the time,” he said. “Denmark borders Germany. I’m sure the Vikings  invaded a Bavarian village and that’s why I’m showing Danish and not German blood.”

I tried to politely suggest that one of his grandfathers had been adopted or that maybe, just maybe, one of his great grandmothers had fooled around a bit.

He wouldn’t hear of it. The paternal side of his family was German, and no one would convince him otherwise.

Even when his mother bought him a Viking hat for his birthday, he refused to see any humor in the discrepancy between what the family tree said and what his DNA indicated. He may have Danish blood, but he will always be German.

He has a valid point.

DNA may provide the genetic code for the color of our eyes, our skin tone, and even our predisposition for medical conditions, but the core of who we are is so much bigger than that.

Just as none of us would be whom we are without our DNA or ancestral heritage, neither would we be whom we are without people who gave a piece of themselves to us.

I am a compilation of all the people who believed in me, challenged me and, most importantly, loved me.

The person I am today came from the elderly neighbors who provided a refuge when I ran away from home on a regular basis as a child. The person I am today came from the teachers who chose to see beyond my academic performance and also wanted to nurture my creative and empathetic tendencies. The person I am today came from all the people who hurt, betrayed and abandoned me and from the people who encouraged, supported, and loved me during those same times.

The person I am today could never give a simple answer to the question “where did I come from?” No biology lesson or family tree can even begin to describe where I came from. Only my relationships and the stories I pass on to my children can do that.

Trina Bartlett lives with her husband, Giles Snyder, their teenage son and daughter, two cats and one enormous German Shepherd. When she’s not being a mom, volunteering, writing, biking or walking the giant German Shepherd, Trina works full time as a director at a nonprofit, social service organization.

The Tooth Fairy

Tuesday, March 31, 2015
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There are some parental roles I never mastered.

Playing the Tooth Fairy is one.

I should have known it was going to be problematic the day my son lost his first tooth.

He literally lost it.

He was on the playground in kindergarten, and I never got the full story about exactly what happened. The tooth (2)tooth may have fallen into a pile of mulch while he was on the swings, or he may have swallowed it while going down the slide. I don’t know. I suspect the latter because when my husband and I tried to convince our son that the tooth fairy would find his tooth anyway, he wasn’t exactly thrilled with the idea.

That was the start of my short-lived and very spotty career as the Tooth Fairy.

Losing a tooth was never a big deal for my children because it likely led to disappointment.

Sometimes, one of my children would put a tooth under his or her pillow. More often, they didn’t.

They knew that sometimes the Tooth Fairy remembered to replace the tooth with money and sometimes she didn’t.

When I did remember to take the tooth, I never knew what I was supposed to do with it.

Other parents told me that they kept their children’s baby teeth, but that seemed kind of disgusting to me. I couldn’t imagine a day when I would look at a tiny tooth and get all nostalgic.

That was back in the days when I didn’t realize how quickly the years would fast forward to a time when the cost of college tuition was a much bigger concern than how much the tooth fairy should pay. That was also back in the days when I didn’t give any consideration to the fact that I would someday have to seek professional assistance to remove my child’s teeth.

Last fall, when our dentist advised me that my 16-year old son needed to consult an oral surgeon about having his wisdom teeth removed, I was sure he was going to add “in five years.”

He didn’t.

And so, a few months later, I was trying to get my son to wake up after his first experience with anesthesia.

I could poke fun at how he behaved, but he really didn’t act much differently than normal. He wanted to sleep, and he wanted his parents to leave him alone.

The only surprising moment occurred as we were leaving.

I was handed a small paper envelope and told that it contained my son’s wisdom teeth.

“He wanted to keep them,” the oral surgeon said.

I stuck the envelope in my purse and immediately forgot about it. I certainly didn’t think that my son wanted his teeth so he could put them under his pillow in hopes that the Tooth Fairy would make one final appearance.

He and I both knew that my dismal performances as the Tooth Fairy were a thing of the past.

We didn’t realize I had one final curtain call.

A couple of months after my son’s surgery, I was checking out at the local grocery store when I was asked for my bonus card. I keep it attached to my key ring, which I had misplaced somewhere in my purse. I put my purse on the ledge by the debit card scanner as I searched. When I pulled out my keys in triumph, two large obviously adult human teeth popped out and onto the conveyor belt.

I couldn’t look at the clerk’s face as I scooped up the teeth and threw them randomly back in my purse.

I couldn’t look at her face as I handed her my key ring.

I couldn’t even look at her face when I paid for my purchase.

The only thing I could do was try to regain some semblance of pride while assuring the clerk that I wasn’t a complete freak.

“Being the Tooth Fairy can be a messy and sometimes embarrassing job,” I said as I walked away.

I didn’t need to look back. I knew the young woman couldn’t understand.

But someday, in the rapidly approaching future, she probably will.

Trina Bartlett lives with her husband, Giles Snyder, their teenage son and daughter, two cats and one enormous German Shepherd. When she’s not being a mom, volunteering, writing, biking or walking the giant German Shepherd, Trina works full time as a director at a nonprofit, social service organization.

The fun stage of baby

Monday, March 16, 2015
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AJ turned 7 months old last week and we’ve officially entered what I consider to be “the fun stage.” The last couple months have been downright fun. She’s grown from an infant into a real baby; a little human being with her own distinctive personality.7 months

As I’m writing this post, she’s sitting on our living room rug, “talking” to herself, looking at her hands, and rocking back and forth on all fours. Any day now she will take off across the floor. Just in the last two weeks, I’ve watched her learn to move to things out of her reach, usually through a combination of scooting, rolling and army crawling.

Everyone has his or her favorite stage of “baby;” for me things keep getting better the older AJ gets. The newborn stage was wonderful in its own way, but it also was challenging, emotional, exhausting and overwhelming. A newborn baby does almost nothing yet needs constant care. And, because of the traumatic experience of childbirth added with the never-ending cycle of sleepless nights, I felt like a shell of my real self.

Now, at 7 months, motherhood is still challenging, emotional, exhausting and sometimes overwhelming, but I’ve gotten more used to my new life. I feel like myself again. AJ still needs constant care, she’s a baby after all, but she is responsive, appreciative and loving.

A baby around this age starts reaching some of the really fun developmental milestones, physically, mentally and socially, which means every day brings something new and exciting. This is around the time when babies learn to crawl, pull up and sit on their own. It’s when they start to form syllables that will turn into words. It’s when they start eating food and learn to drink from a sippy cup.

Although AJ certainly can’t talk, and my dreams of teaching her baby sign language have been pretty much abandoned, she communicates with us. She changes her facial expression to show she’s happy to see us. She puts her arms out for us to pick her up. She bangs the tray on her high chair when she wants more food. She knows her name and (I think) is starting to learn other words.

And she LOVES to play. I had no idea how much fun playing with a baby could be. She wants to explore everything. You can see her mind working through the concentration on her face.

This stage does come with new challenges. I worry about her food schedule and if she’s eating enough. I worry about her development and if I’m encouraging her learning enough. It’s harder to take her places now because she doesn’t like to be constrained, and constantly wants to be entertained. She gets in to everything she can (and I know it will only get worse!). I’m always busy with all the tasks that need to be done for her.

Although I look back fondly on the time when AJ was a newborn, it was rough actually going through it. Not every day is sunshine and roses now, some days I feel like I’m doing all it takes just to survive, but I’m having fun. And I’m optimistically confident that as she continues to grow, life will continue to get sweeter and more fun.

Kelly Weikle and her husband Chris are navigating the uncharted road of parenthood with their infant daughter, AJ. Kelly shares the ups, downs, laughs, and cries of new motherhood on The Mommyhood every Monday. When not discovering what everyone else who has a child already knows, Kelly works full time in corporate communications.

The Button Box

Wednesday, March 11, 2015
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The button box wasn’t actually a box. It was a round basket in a strange shade of orange and gold.buttons

Despite its shape, we never called it the button basket. It was always the button box.

Growing up with a mother who wasn’t a collector of much of anything, the button box was magical to me.

If the weather was stormy or if I was stuck in bed with some childhood illness, I could spend hours going through the only treasure chest I knew. I would take off the lid, dip my hands into the jumbled contents, and let the buttons spill through my fingers as though they were precious jewels.

After admiring the contents, I would sort the buttons by color, size, and shape. Then I would create designs with the buttons while I imagine why they had landed in the button box. I became an archaeologist digging up my mother’s history by uncovering a small remnant of a favorite coat she no longer wore; the eyes of a stuffed animal from her childhood or the small pearl button from her high school prom dress.

I never wondered why my mom had collected so many buttons. I never even considered the possibility that she had an emotional attachment to the objects. She was a practical woman, and buttons were useful.

Except, most of the buttons in the button box weren’t very useful at all.

There were a few sets of buttons still packaged with price tags that were more reflective of the 1950’s than the 1970’s. Some buttons matched, but most were singularly odd: a red heart, a large black square, a plaid, cloth-covered disc. I couldn’t imagine my mother would sew them onto anything she was making or mending.

On  rare occasions, Mom would take out the button box, riffle through it, and pull out what she needed. More often, however, she went to the store and bought the exact buttons she wanted

And yet, she kept that box and saved those buttons because she considered them valuable. Then, she shared her treasure with me because she thought I was valuable too.

And that’s the magic of motherhood– the appreciation that the greatest gifts we pass on to our children aren’t the ones that cost money but instead are the ones that require us to give pieces of ourselves to the next generation.

The magic of childhood is appreciating those gifts.

And the magic of family is appreciating why those gifts are so important.

Trina Bartlett lives with her husband, Giles Snyder, their teenage son and daughter, two cats and one enormous German Shepherd. When she’s not being a mom, volunteering, writing, biking or walking the giant German Shepherd, Trina works full time as a director at a nonprofit, social service organization.

When Being Cold Became Cool

Wednesday, March 4, 2015
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My car dashboard indicated that the outside temperature was only two degrees, but the students streaming into the middle and high schools seemed almost oblivious,

Most were dressed in jeans and hoodies with no coats. A few of the boys  wore shorts, and a few girls wore skirts with no tights or leggings. Even in my warm car with heated seats, seeing those bare legs made me shiver.

Not one student wore a hat or gloves, although some had their hands shoved into pockets as they walked to school from a nearby neighborhood.

My own two children were only wearing light jackets, but at least they were wearing some type of outerwear, which was more than most of their peers. I felt a swell of parental pride as I dropped each of them off at their respective schools. They might not be wearing hats, but at least they both had enough sense to wear long sleeves and long pants.

Based on what most students were wearing that frigid morning, I’m guessing parents and common sense have an equal amount of influence over teenagers’ clothing choices. Gone are the times when we had could protect our children from harsh weather elements.

The day after my son was born in early April, I was preparing him to leave the hospital and head home for the first time.

The nurse charged with monitoring our departure was obviously displeased. Before I nestled Shepherd into his car seat, she intervened.

“Your not letting him go outside like that?” she asked with a distinct note of disapproval.

I looked at my son and simply nodded.

“There’s a chill in the air,” she declared as she picked up a blanket and tucked it around Shepherd with an expertise I was sure I’d never have.

I felt as thought I’d already flunked Motherhood 101. I hadn’t known that exposing my son’s bare face and hands to 60 degree weather was cause for alarm. If only I could have flashed forward almost 17 years, I would have been laughing at both the nurse and myself.

Babies are tough. Kids are tougher. And parents have to be the toughest of all, no matter what the weather.

We may have to be tough, but we don’t have to be cool since being cool apparently requires enduring frigid temperatures while pretending to be unaffected. I’m perfectly content to be the weird mom who covers herself in coats, scarfs, hats and gloves.

I have no need to be cold and no desire to be cool.

I do, however, have a burning desire to ensure my kids make decisions based on their own well-being rather than on the prevailing styles.

The light jackets they wore on that incredibly frigid morning indicate that I just may be making slight progress toward that goal.

Trina Bartlett lives with her husband, Giles Snyder, their teenage son and daughter, two cats and one enormous German Shepherd. When she’s not being a mom, volunteering, writing, biking or walking the giant German Shepherd, Trina works full time as a director at a nonprofit, social service organization.

Alone On the Curb

Wednesday, January 21, 2015
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I have no doubt that every child who went to elementary school during the 1970’s experienced the same trauma I did. Fortunately, I only experienced it once – or at least I only remember one incident. There may have been more, but none has stuck with me like the one that occurred that day in second grade.

I remember feeling completely lost and alone as I sat on the curb waiting for a mom who hadn’t arrived.

I don’t remember why I had stayed after school. I just remember that I did and was quite excited to do so. Bon the curback in those days, afterschool activities weren’t the norm for the under ten crowd. We had music lessons and 4-H and Scouts, but none of those activities were associated with school and there was no such thing as afterchool care.

Whatever the reason my friends and I had stayed late, it must have been  a special occasion. I still remember chatting with my friends as we stood on the sidewalk by the playground fence waiting for our moms to pick us up. (In those days, the moms were always the ones who picked up the kids.)

As other moms began to drive up to the curb and my friends climbed into their cars (usually into the front seat, generally without seat belts and always with absolutely no concept of contraptions called car seats), our group got smaller and smaller and smaller.

Eventually, I was the only one still standing on the sidewalk until I tired of that and sat on the curb.

I know anyone born after 1980 is wondering where the adult supervision and teachers were. My answer is “I don’t know.”

Back in those days, vigilance didn’t exist like it does today, and teachers usually went home when the students did. There was a sense of trust in the parents and a sense of safety in daylight – especially in small towns. There was also a belief that situations usually worked themselves out.

Except when they didn’t.

As the sun started making its journey behind the Juniper-covered hills that surrounded the town in which I lived, I sat on the curb and waited. And waited. And waited.

Eventually, a teacher who had stayed late happened upon me as she walked to her car. She didn’t, however, see the same gravity in the situation that I did.

“What’s the matter?” she asked. “You look as though you lost your best friend.”

I remember contemplating her words. My good friends had all left me, but I didn’t think I’d actually lost them. But I didn’t share those thoughts. Instead, I told her I was waiting for my mom.

“Oh, I know your mom,” the teacher said. “I know she’ll be here soon.”

And she was right. My mom did arrive…eventually,

In those days before Google calendars and other electronic reminders, she had simply forgotten that she was supposed to pick me up at school. And, in those days before cell phones, answering machines and vigilant school personnel, I was powerless to remind her. Those things just happened to those of us who grew up in the 1970’s.

Mom may have told me why she didn’t worry when the bus arrived without me. Or she may have told me that she had a meeting and she thought she had babysitting duties covered. I don’t remember because her words never registered. I was too relieved and grateful that I wasn’t going to have to spend the night on the curb and wear the same clothes to school the next day.

I was reminded of this incident a few weeks ago as a read a post that has been recycled through social media a few times. It is a reminder of what would now be considered parenting fails but  were acceptable when I was young. And my generation survived anyway.

We didn’t wear bike helmets (although I do remember the humiliation of swimming caps). We played outside with no supervision (unless you count our dogs which all ran free without any type of fence – even electric.) And we weren’t electronically connected to everyone we knew.

If we were out of our parents sight, they never knew where we were, if we were safe or when we would actually arrive home.

I can’t imagine being a parent during that time period, and I give my parents kudos for being so strong.

Apparently, I am much weaker.

Both of my children have cell phones with which they use to constantly communicate with me.

I know if their plans have changed and they are going home with a friend after school. And when they text me such information, I can immediately text the friend’s parents to confirm.

I know when the band bus is running late or early, so I can arrive at the school in a timely manner. I don’t have to sit in a parking lot for hours waiting for a bus to arrive and imagining all that could possibly have gone wrong.

And I know that the school has my cell phone number so I don’t have to be sitting at my office desk to get a notice that my child is sick or is in detention (yes I have experienced that parental fail.)

Those of us who had the true 1970’s childhood experience may laugh at how much we protect our children these days, but deep in our hearts, we are also extremely grateful. Changes in technology and society ensure that our children will never be sitting alone on a curb waiting for a ride home.

And if that isn’t progress, I don’t know what is.

Trina Bartlett lives with her husband, Giles Snyder, their teenage son and daughter, two cats and one enormous German Shepherd. When she’s not being a mom, volunteering or writing, Trina works full time as a director at a nonprofit, social service organization.

A Baby Changes Everything

Friday, December 26, 2014
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The lights were dimmed; the house was quiet. The presents were opened, the turkey carved, the cookies eaten. We were home after a long and joyous day of Christmas festivities. As I slowly rocked AJ to sleep, I started singing one last Christmas carol. “A Baby Changes Everything” (Faith Hill) was the song I couldn’t get out of my head.

Last Christmas, I was newly pregnant and even though I had been dreaming and hoping for a baby, I was scared. I took a new interest in the Christmas story, for now I was looking at it from Mary’s point of view. How scared she must have been! I drew courage from her courage. I knew my life would change, but I didn’t know how it would change.

A baby does change everything. This Christmas season was unlike any I’ve had before. It started out extra hectic. Holiday traditions like decorating the home and baking mass quantities of cookies are a tad more difficult with a baby around; and I’m sure almost impossible with a toddler. Shopping with a stroller takes serious skills, skills I do not yet have, and so this season I quickly gained a new appreciation for online shopping.

Our Christmas Eve was different too. No late night parties or midnight church service for us this year. We spent our evening watching It’s A Wonderful Life, and I was so exhausted I didn’t even make it to the end of the movie.

Christmas Day was spent as usual with our families (we are lucky to have both sets of grandparents close). As expected, most of the gifts we received were for AJ and not for Chris or me. Baby clothes replaced adult clothes; toys replaced gadgets. And that was exactly how I wanted it to be.

This Christmas, we started forging new traditions, traditions that include the newest member of our family and our greatest gift yet. As I put AJ in her crib and said goodnight, I thought about how I will experience the wonder of Christmas through her eyes in the years to come. We still have a few Christmases to go before AJ can appreciate the magic and excitement of it all, but I’m already looking forward to how different every Christmas will be as she grows year to year. A baby changes everything, in wonderful and unexpected ways.

This Too Shall Pass

Friday, December 12, 2014
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“This too shall pass” – a well-known adage and my new life motto.

The saying is often used when referring to a hardship or struggle, but its true meaning is twofold, and that’s how I use it. I say it to myself when I’m having a rough day or when AJ is going through a phase that is hard on mommy, and I use it as a reminder that the good times will pass just as quickly as the hard times.

When AJ was a newborn and we couldn’t stop her cries, I told myself, “This too shall pass,” and it did.

When I was dealing with the baby blues and hormones that come after having a baby, I knew it would pass. It did.

This week, we had one glorious full night of sleep, followed by four nights of not-so-good sleep. This too shall pass.

The toothless smile, the surprise on her face when she makes a new noise for the first time, those will pass too.

The good and the bad that comes with raising a baby, it all goes by too quickly. At lunch this week, some of my coworkers were talking about being baseball coaches, serving on school committees, carpooling kids and traveling for extracurricular activities. Before I know it, those days will be upon us. The days of AJ being a baby will pass and she will grow.

I know AJ is only four months old, but as we approach our first Christmas, I’m feeling the passage of time oh so strongly. This time last year, I had just found out I was expecting. It felt like forever until I would spend Christmas with my baby, and yet here we are, and I feel like I barely blinked.

We aren’t able to fast-forward through the rough parts and press “pause” on the easy parts. And for good reason; the hard times make us appreciate the good and the two are often intertwined. When I’m up at 4 a.m. feeding AJ, I get to see her sweet face and hold her tiny body. She won’t stay tiny for long and she won’t be eating at 4 a.m. forever.

This too shall pass – a silent prayer of strength, and a constant reminder to enjoy this time as much as possible.

Mommy Fails

Friday, December 5, 2014
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Dear AJ,

Despite what you may think, your mom is not perfect. She is still getting used to this whole motherhood thing. We’ve had some minor bumps in the road, but thankfully they have all been something we can laugh about. I thought you (and my fellow moms and other readers) may enjoy learning about some of my many “mommy fails” from these first few months. Enjoy:

Some days, you go through so many outfits that you end up just hanging out in your diaper. Don’t worry, it’s warm in our house.

Going through an entire bottle of laundry detergent before realizing it was actually fabric softener. At least it was the sensitive skin kind?

Clipping your skin instead of your nail the first time I tried to clip those itty bitty baby fingernails. You didn’t seem to notice. But when I did it again a few weeks later…screams ensued. Maybe we should leave that task to your dad from now on.

Every single voice mail I leave the pediatrician’s office. I’ve made several middle-of-the-night calls that include something along the lines of, “I think…but maybe not…but I read this online…well I just wanted to make sure…I’m sorry I can’t remember…again my name is…” I’m sure they love me. (Side note – The return calls have always been, “She’s fine.”)

Accidentally giving you your acid reflux medicine with day-old leftover milk that I had failed to put in the sink instead of the milk that I got out of the fridge to use. I was a walking zombie at the time and only discovered my mistake after you were finished with the bottle. You weren’t phased.

Always, always forgetting to bring some sort of baby item and then always needing said baby item. Most common items include burp clothes, extra clothes and the entire diaper bag.

Finding out you had not been added to our insurance because I failed to click the final “confirm and submit” button on the online form, which led to many phone calls to make sure you were added and covered and many tears on my part. Apparently extreme sleep deprivation leads to a sharp decline in reading comprehension and computer skills. In the end, everything was resolved and I owe a big thanks to the people who helped me.

Dropping the humidifier into your crib AS YOU ARE SLEEPING in said crib. Luckily I didn’t drop it ON you. Water went everywhere. You were napping and startled awake when the humidifier hit the mattress, but went right back to sleep and didn’t move an inch while the water soaked your entire backside before I could pick you up. Turns out the first time that plastic baby mattress came in handy was because of mommy, not AJ.

And last but not least, you have no clean pajamas or towels at the moment.

As you can see AJ, I’m navigating this new life just like you are. But despite my mishaps, I think we make a pretty good team. And most importantly, please know I am trying my very hardest to be the best mommy to you that I can be!

Love,

Mommy

The daycare dilemma

Friday, November 14, 2014
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We started daycare this week – that is, AJ started daycare.

I was a wreck on Sunday. The weepy kind of sad. Yes, I had been back to work for four days. Going back to work wasn’t as hard as I imagined. But there was just something about her starting daycare that really got to me.

Maybe it was the fact that for the first time in a long time I felt old. Whenever we hit a milestone in our lives, even a joyous one, it can cause the melancholy feeling of time passing too quickly. When I found out I was pregnant I felt young instead of old. Even when I had AJ and became a mom, I never felt like I was getting older. But taking her to daycare for some reason made me feel ancient.

Maybe it was that I was worried about entrusting my child to people who don’t love her. Sure, they will like her, but they don’t LOVE her like I do. They don’t physically hurt when she cries. They don’t know how to get her to sleep when she’s fighting it. They have other babies they need to pay attention to.

Or maybe it was that I was more worried that her caretakers WOULD love her. They will learn how to get her to sleep. They will shower her with affection. She will get to know them. They will tell me what she likes rather than the other way around.

Chris and I both went to drop her off on her first day. As I pulled out my list of instructions, one of the caretakers started asking me questions. Before I knew it, she had covered everything on my instruction list. These people know what they are doing. They are the experts (and by the way, they are great!). I am the one who is new to this, not them.

AJ looked around in awe as we unpacked her diapers, extra clothes, and other items. As I handed her over, the tears started flowing. I couldn’t hold them in. I kept apologizing, “I’m sorry, I’m being so silly,” but really I shouldn’t have apologized. There is no need to apologize for being sad to leave your child.

In the parking lot, I hugged my husband and more tears came. Although I am confident of our decision and know it is what is best for our family, it was still a hard day. This was a milestone in our lives, and the feeling of time passing too quickly overwhelmed me. Our baby is only three months old, but I felt like she was already growing up. Her newborn days, the days I swore I would not miss while I was going through them, have passed, and I do miss them. Every day I look forward to watching her grow and at the same time mourn another day gone of her being so small. Every day I wonder how I am going to “do it all” and yet I do “do it all.”

And now, I have something new to look forward to every day – picking her up after work and seeing her smile.