blogs
Independence Days
"Where's Mommy? Where'd Mommy go?" MJ wants to know. We're reading a book in which a mommy is mentioned on a page, but not pictured. This is a concept that has bothered her recently. We stop and have a discussion about why the mommy in question has left the page, where she might have gone, and when she might be coming back. I can only assume this is because a juice emergency might suddenly arise with the kid in the book, and MJ is just looking out for her peeps.
But in our own life story, back at home, the roles are reversed: I'm the one who must know where MJ is at all times, and not just for the usual reasons that involve possible catastrophic house damage or permanently stunted growth. I am utterly soft when it comes to letting someone else watch my babies for me. Neither of my girls had ever stayed with someone other than their grandparents or aunts and uncles until recently.
I experimented once with leaving MJ in a gym child care when she was about 8 months old. They plopped her into a Bumbo seat in the middle of the floor. She was the only child there. I walked away to reacquaint myself with exercise, feeling like the most selfish person on earth. All I could think about was my sweet baby, alone in a Bumbo, wondering where Mommy had gone. When I returned, the place was teeming with kids; MJ hadn't moved. She hadn't cried. She didn't seem to care or even notice that I had been gone.
But I did. I cared. And I never tried it again.
Then, three weeks ago, MJ began spending one morning a week with a few other children she knows at the home of a delightful woman who lives not far from us. They play games outdoors, sing songs, speak Spanish -- and paint. They paint fearlessly and in places I'd never let MJ get near with sidewalk chalk. It's three hours of pure freedom from my fussy rules: "South Americans, we're not complicated people," the woman told me when we first met.
Me, on the other hand? Very complicated. Too complicated, I think. I consider MJ's mornings there as "preschool light" -- a way to prepare her for the fall, when for two mornings a week she'll be out of my sight, experiencing new things while I'm not around, picking up new habits and expressions that I won't know the origins of. But really, it's as much about preparing me for ceding little bits of my little bitty girl to the world.
And I guess this is where it begins, her long journey away from my every minute and breath: On a back patio three miles from my house, with me creeping around to the backyard to find my sweet pea sitting in a circle with other boys and girls, jostling for toys, listening to songs sung sweetly in Spanish, not even noticing when I walk up. I know, I know -- if melodrama had a scent, the odor would be choking your computer right now like the Belk perfume department on a Saturday afternoon. She is only three, after all. But I cannot help the feeling.
One of the things I love most about babies is that wonderful recognition they give you when you go to lift them from their crib, or when they've gotten a slight boo boo or fright and look to your face to find out if their world is still intact. "What do I do here, Mom? Is it meltdown time or do I just take it in stride?" Mothers have such a hold on their children; I still feel that with my own mom. She is my lifelong compass, the one I turn to when I can't figure out whether to laugh or cry.
I think —- or like to think -- that this is what MJ is truly searching for when the mommy leaves the pages of a book: The reassurance that her compass, her world, her sense of self, will always be present, even if her mommy is not. I'm sure it's really about the juice, but, frankly, I like this explanation much better.
And where do those disappearing mommies go? If they're like me, they are somewhere trying to go about their business, running errands or caring for younger children, all the while wondering what marvelous adventures they're missing as their toddlers write those first few pages of independence. I know it's going to be a thrilling -- and tear-jerking -- read.
Beth appears every Tuesday on TriangleMom2Mom.com. Read more about Beth at MotherBunker.
Beth McNichol
Beth is a TriangleMom2Mom featured blogger, appearing every Tuesday.
Beth is a freelance writer, former magazine editor and a past media relations director for UNC athletics. She wrote high-brow pieces about air-guitar competitions and the true color of Carolina blue before entering the super-chic life of stay-at-home mom to two girls: MJ, 3; and Little L, 10 months. Beth is married to a nice boy from Toronto, and they are teaching their children how to say “sorry” in both English and Canadian. She is a graduate of UNC and Northwestern and is a native of West Virginia, the first state to observe Mother’s Day. She now resides on the Chapel Hill side of Durham. If you ask her for juice one more time she will scream.
"Where's Mommy? Where'd Mommy go?" MJ wants to know. We're reading a book in which a mommy is mentioned on a page, but not pictured. This is a concept that has bothered her recently. We stop and have a discussion about why the mommy in question has left the page, where she might have gone, and when she might be coming back. I can only assume this is because a juice emergency might suddenly arise with the kid in the book, and MJ is just looking out for her peeps.
But in our own life story, back at home, the roles are reversed: I'm the one who must know where MJ is at all times, and not just for the usual reasons that involve possible catastrophic house damage or permanently stunted growth. I am utterly soft when it comes to letting someone else watch my babies for me. Neither of my girls had ever stayed with someone other than their grandparents or aunts and uncles until recently.
I experimented once with leaving MJ in a gym child care when she was about 8 months old. They plopped her into a Bumbo seat in the middle of the floor. She was the only child there. I walked away to reacquaint myself with exercise, feeling like the most selfish person on earth. All I could think about was my sweet baby, alone in a Bumbo, wondering where Mommy had gone. When I returned, the place was teeming with kids; MJ hadn't moved. She hadn't cried. She didn't seem to care or even notice that I had been gone.
But I did. I cared. And I never tried it again.
Then, three weeks ago, MJ began spending one morning a week with a few other children she knows at the home of a delightful woman who lives not far from us. They play games outdoors, sing songs, speak Spanish -- and paint. They paint fearlessly and in places I'd never let MJ get near with sidewalk chalk. It's three hours of pure freedom from my fussy rules: "South Americans, we're not complicated people," the woman told me when we first met.
Me, on the other hand? Very complicated. Too complicated, I think. I consider MJ's mornings there as "preschool light" -- a way to prepare her for the fall, when for two mornings a week she'll be out of my sight, experiencing new things while I'm not around, picking up new habits and expressions that I won't know the origins of. But really, it's as much about preparing me for ceding little bits of my little bitty girl to the world.
And I guess this is where it begins, her long journey away from my every minute and breath: On a back patio three miles from my house, with me creeping around to the backyard to find my sweet pea sitting in a circle with other boys and girls, jostling for toys, listening to songs sung sweetly in Spanish, not even noticing when I walk up. I know, I know -- if melodrama had a scent, the odor would be choking your computer right now like the Belk perfume department on a Saturday afternoon. She is only three, after all. But I cannot help the feeling.
One of the things I love most about babies is that wonderful recognition they give you when you go to lift them from their crib, or when they've gotten a slight boo boo or fright and look to your face to find out if their world is still intact. "What do I do here, Mom? Is it meltdown time or do I just take it in stride?" Mothers have such a hold on their children; I still feel that with my own mom. She is my lifelong compass, the one I turn to when I can't figure out whether to laugh or cry.
I think —- or like to think -- that this is what MJ is truly searching for when the mommy leaves the pages of a book: The reassurance that her compass, her world, her sense of self, will always be present, even if her mommy is not. I'm sure it's really about the juice, but, frankly, I like this explanation much better.
And where do those disappearing mommies go? If they're like me, they are somewhere trying to go about their business, running errands or caring for younger children, all the while wondering what marvelous adventures they're missing as their toddlers write those first few pages of independence. I know it's going to be a thrilling -- and tear-jerking -- read.
Beth appears every Tuesday on TriangleMom2Mom.com. Read more about Beth at MotherBunker.
Beth McNichol
Beth is a TriangleMom2Mom featured blogger, appearing every Tuesday.
Beth is a freelance writer, former magazine editor and a past media relations director for UNC athletics. She wrote high-brow pieces about air-guitar competitions and the true color of Carolina blue before entering the super-chic life of stay-at-home mom to two girls: MJ, 3; and Little L, 10 months. Beth is married to a nice boy from Toronto, and they are teaching their children how to say “sorry” in both English and Canadian. She is a graduate of UNC and Northwestern and is a native of West Virginia, the first state to observe Mother’s Day. She now resides on the Chapel Hill side of Durham. If you ask her for juice one more time she will scream.
Comments
When my kids were in daycare (we always called it preschool...even when they were 6 weeks old...it somehow reassured us that we were doing the right thing for them...which we were....for us) I used to get a note at the end of the day telling what they did, what they ate, etc.
I still remember a note that mentioned Haley listening to a guitar player who entertained the kids. I at once thought:
1. She would SO never hear that if I was staying home with her. But she would know who Regis and Kathy Lee (yup, no Kelly back then...except as Haley on All My Children) were.
2. She has experiences that are utterly and completely independent of me
Freaky.
Reading this, I was so there with you. It's nice to know I am not the only one who had these thoughts...and still do!
Even though my kids are at school (like Diane, we call it school) all day, I still have a problem letting go. We rarely leave the kids with a sitter that isn't the Grandparents, and I won't take my youngest to the gym (my oldest loves it, as most of her friends go as well).
I have a feeling I'm going to spend a full hour reading the reports I get from preschool in the fall, trying to picture the words in action. And being glad she's having those experiences.
I'm with Amy. My daughter has been in daycare about four days a week since she was seven months old, but I rarely go out and leave her with a babysitter. And if I do - it's only with my mom.
And we call it school too.
Wouldn't it be fascinating to capture those first little goodbyes (and all the ones after it) -- well, not the goodbye itself so much as what the mom does in the few seconds afterwards. I think the actions would be so universal, so similar -- and such a nice thing for their grown children to see one day, the continuity of it. I remember my dad being a little sad when he left me in a new city with a new job -- and I was 22 years old at the time. He must have thought the place would swallow his little girl whole. (It nearly did!) I've never forgotten how much that said about a parent's love. I've also never understood it as much as I do now.
My son went to school three days a week (my husband watched him the other two days) starting from when he was three months old. I still have every single daily report from his first year at school.
I, however, had very little problem dropping him off at school the first day. I was a little sad, but hugely relieved because I was going back to work, something I knew how to do. Learning to be a mom was a different story. Two weeks later, though, I missed him so much. We rarely went out or had a babysitter then. Now that I'm home, I use my gym daycare all the time. It's the cheapest babysitter in town and I get to exercise.
I can identify with what you're feeling. One of my son's preschool teachers jokes that I'm the mom who wants to join the class -- that's how much time I spend lingering in the classroom when I drop him off each morning!