Today I sent my child to daycare.
Okay, it isn’t exactly daycare — it’s her auntie, who lives six minutes away, and her two little cousins. And it wasn’t even all day. It was four hours.
But it was the first four hours of me becoming a part-time working mom. I explained to baby, as she sucked away on her pacifier in the back seat of the car, that this will be a regular thing now. She’ll go see her auntie — or once in a while her other auntie, or maybe her uncle — four mornings a week and play and have a fun time while Mommy goes to work. Mommy will come back for her after lunch.
She’s four months old. She’s still figuring out that I’m Mommy and that this big place with ceiling fans and mirrors is Earth. So I know it is far more difficult for me than it is, if at all, for her. See the previous post on this subject.
Mommy has gone back to her old job for a while, cataloging and scanning at a museum, so it’s nice that the learning curve is minimal. What I wasn’t expecting was the challenge to working that part of my brain again. It felt a little intense at first!
Another thing I didn’t expect was the awkwardness of the transition between being work-me and being Mommy-me. As I walk in the door at work, I turn off my Mommy thoughts and turn on my museum thoughts. Then, at the designated time, I turn off the one and turn on the other again. And ne’er the twain shall meet. Like I’m two totally separate people.
Maybe that’s a good thing, though. Wherever I am, I want to be all there.