When I decided to try for a baby, I knew that if I did fall pregnant, then it was inevitable that one day, I would have to go back to work and I would have to put my child into Child Care.
As awful as it was to think about handing over my own flesh and blood to a complete stranger, it was years away. I mean I wasn't even pregnant yet. So why worry about something so far away. I knew it would probably be hard at the time, but I just pushed the thought away. Little did I know how quickly I would fall pregnant and how quickly that first year at home would actually go?
It seemed like I had barely put my box of personal items down from work before I was picking it back up and putting it in the car. The car that now held a child safety seat, a nappy bag and an array of brightly coloured musical toys.
I must say that the pit of dread and the tears that came every time I thought about Child Care, started months before that first dreaded day ever arrived. Every time I would look down at my tiny precious little angel I couldn't imagine being away from her, or even worse yet, letting someone else care for her. I can't tell you how many times I held her tight as I fought back tears, or let it all out in the shower whilst she slept.
Before motherhood I had no idea how strongly I would be attached to my baby, how strong my motherly instinct would be, and how much I would love her. I couldn't bare the thought of being away from her. Not for a minute, let alone ten long hours a day.
As much as I wanted to dismiss the reality of it, I had no choice I had to work towards that big day. So, reluctantly I worked on getting her ready to deal with the routine of a Child Care centre. I almost cried every time I thought of being without her or her having to be on her own. But I had no choice it was going to happen. So I encouraged her to use a cup to drink water from six months of age; I tried desperately to wean her off feeding to sleep, and tried a few times unsuccessfully to get her to go to sleep on her own in her cot.
Every time I thought about her refusing to eat, or crying herself to sleep alone in a strange cot in a room full of strange crying babies, I broke down. I just hadn't anticipated that it was going to be this hard. And it hadn't even happened yet.
Unlike many children my daughter had never been baby sat. We didn't have family or friends close by so she had almost never had to be in a room without me, and she had never been out of my sight for more than five minutes. Other than her Daddy, her life revolved completely around me. This had been lovely for her, but was only going to make the separation harder.
So the months flew past and as 'the' day grew closer I became more anxious. She just looked so small and vulnerable. There was no way she was ready to be left with strangers; but I hadn't won the lottery, and I still had a huge mortgage, so it was going to happen whether we liked it or not. I had been down with the child care centres since I was only six weeks pregnant, so I started visiting them one by one. I needed to see where my little girl was going to be all day.
I must say that these visits only compounded my sadness and fear. Most of the centres were just awful. They were so small, with hard floors, and hardly any toys. And how could anyone really look after 8 babies, and still provide them with the love and watchful eye of a single mother! The day I was told by one centre that their "sleep policy" involved putting the screamers in first, and that all the kids aged six weeks to five years played in the garden together at the same time, I nearly broke down in the car park.
I had just about resided myself to the fact that I had to either sell my house and move to the country or put my daughter in one of these horrible, but probably completely safe and adequate centres, a place came up at "the" centre in my town. I made my daughter cry when I yelled out "yippee" on the phone. In my excitement I think I scared the poor thing half to death. Now whilst this centre was the premium centre in town that every mum wanted to get into, it was still not going to make it any easier.
Three weeks before the big day we decided to start taking our daughter in for a few hours at a time to build her up to a full day on her own. All I can say is "Thank God" that we did. We both really needed this transition time. The first day I sat with her for two hours, and whilst she cried when they tried to touch her, or put her in the strange high chair, she was happy to look around as long as I was in arms reach.
The second day I had to leave her on her own. My husband was on annual leave so was there to offer support. She was unsure when we arrived. She obviously remembered this strange place full of loud children and strange ladies that wanted to touch her. We stayed and walked around with her for ten minutes, and then the moment came when we had to go. As I leaned to pass her over to the group leader, the look on her face said it all. She screamed and her face was awash with sheer terror. It was without a doubt the most horrific and unbearably horrible moment of my life!
I had been told that I just had to go quickly, to be confident and not hesitate. I almost had to run as the tears were coming, and coming fast. How could I leave my baby that was screaming mummy and sobbing and shaking in a strangers arms? I felt my heart racing in my ears, my stomach was churning. I had hot sweats, was dizzy and felt like I would collapse. It was ten times worse than I had ever imagined! I raced out the front door and fell into my husband's arms, sobbing as much as my baby.
As we walked through the car park I could still hear her screams, and I almost ran back to take her in my arms. I sat in the car, numb. I hadn't been on my own for a year. I had never been without my baby before. I felt lost and strange. The world seemed too loud, too bright and seemed to be shrinking in from all sides. I sat in the car and cried and shook and wondered how long two hours could actually be.
To distract me, my husband drove me to the local shopping centre for coffee. I couldn't enjoy my new found freedom, the time to do what I wanted. All I wanted was my baby! All I could think about was her on her own, crying for the mother, who had abandoned her. I sat at the coffee shop sniffing, and in between checking my mobile phone was on and the volume turned up, I stared blankly into my coffee cup.
Finally the agreed two hours was up; I could go back and 'save' my baby. I could barely stand the drive there, and was willing the traffic out of the way. We finally arrived and I almost ran through the doors. My little one was sitting in a corner with one of the carers blowing bubbles. She looked sad and quite but she wasn't screaming. As soon as she saw me she shook and reached her arms out crying "ma ma" over and over. Her look was a cross between relief and what did I do to deserve to be left here. What did I do wrong mummy, I'm sorry! This look was almost as bad as the look she gave me when I had left. We clung to each other on the way back to the car and I held her tightly and drowned her in kisses.
She didn't want to let go of me to get in the car seat but I finally managed to get her in with the lure of a play with my phone. Ten minutes later we were home. Back to our sanctuary! She looked relieved that this horrible thing whatever it was was over. As she happily played with her toys, she looked up over and over again just to check that I was still there. As expected for the rest of the afternoon she was very clingy. Though today I was happy to indulge her, I needed some therapy myself.
Later when she went to bed I realised that somehow we had survived this day, but now we had to do it again tomorrow. And then; again, and again! This was our life now.
The days that followed were the same, filled with tears and heartache. We tried to extend her time by an hour each day, but each day I was called to come and get her, as she was refusing to eat, drink or sleep, and screamed if anyone tried to change her nappy or hold her. It was breaking my heart. I was so worried for her, and worried about what would happen when I "HAD" to go back to work.
By the second week, we had a little improvement. The tears were still there, but she was at least letting someone feed her and change her nappy now. Though unfortunately still no sleep. I was so worried. How would she survive if she went all day without sleep? It ate at me night and day. I prayed that some how something would happen and I wouldn't have to go back to work, but fate didn't hand me my free 'get out of jail' card, and the week before I had to go back to work arrived. We had to leave her over the sleep time. Ready or not!
The first day she screamed in the cot for 90 minutes. Had I seen or known about it I think I would have dropped dead in sheer horror. But as much as I hated what had happened she did sleep for twenty minutes. She had done it! She had slept without mummy standing by. The next day it took 40 minutes and the next 10. Her naps got a little longer, and on the day before I had to go back to work she slept for 90 minutes after a ten minute cry. It was not optimal to have her crying to sleep but at least she was going to sleep. It still made me sick to leave her and she still screamed out for me when I left, but at least I knew that she would have food and sleep whilst I was at work.
So here we were the night before the dreaded day, I prayed for a good night. But she must have sensed my angst and we had the worst night ever! I think she woke 30 times during the night. After only 30 minutes sleep I almost called in sick. But knew the boss wouldn't be impressed, so some how I got up. I cried in the kitchen for ten minutes whilst the kettle boiled, and cursed the universe for making me wake my 'finally' sleeping baby.
She was tired and cranky in the car, and screamed and sobbed for me when I left for the day. Knowing I couldn't go back for her and that it would be ten hours before I could pick her up left me feeling like some one had pierced my heart. How was I now going to concentrate on the demands of corporate life?
My day at work was long and strange. I felt out of place, lost and as if I had forgotten to do something. I stared at my phone constantly, almost wishing that they would call so I would have an excuse to go and get her. Finally 5 o'clock arrived and I raced out the door. When I arrived at the Centre I couldn't pick her up quickly enough. She sobbed and clung to me and looked so tired it looked like she had been on a 3 day bender. That night she hung off my leg until bed time when she fell into a dead slumber until I had to wake her up at the crack of dawn to do it all over again.
So did this cruelty and heartache keep up? Well yes. The first week was without a doubt just plain awful. The second awful but a tiny bit better. And now seven weeks on, I know that once the ten minutes of "drop off tears" are passed my daughter will be, and is OK for most of the day. (There are still a few tears at nap times and occasionally when she misses mummy). But overall she is settling in, and they say she does enjoy the other children and the games through out the day, though she is always over the moon to see me and more than happy to go home.
Even with the positive feedback from the carers, I still feel guilty and miss her all day long. As I watch her smiling face on my screen saver I count down the minutes before I get her back in my arms.
So how is being back at work? Well it is hard! The days are long, and I rarely sit down until 10pm at night. I spend most of the day missing and worrying about my little baby and feel awful every time I see her face when I pick her up, or hear her cries when I wave her goodbye. I know in time we will both get used to it, but for now I will simply sum it up as being 'hard'. Hard to get up early! Hard to have no play time in the evenings! Hard to be away from each other! Hard to know she cries for me! And hard to get into this new routine altogether!
If you are about to travel down this path then my heart is with you. It is a difficult but necessary road, and even though you won't believe it now, it apparently gets easier. The only positive I can try to take from it, is, that one day it may be just that little bit easier to wave her off to Kindergarten. But I doubt it. She is 'my' little princess after all.
The author is Imogen Barnacle - Managing Director and in-house writer for Australia's popular Parenting and Pregnancy Website Babyboat. Babyboat provides real life information, advice and personal insight for parents, parents-to-be, and those deciding whether or not to board the baby boat. Visit us at: http://www.babyboat.com.au
