Many of you know I work three days a week, so James goes to my Mom’s on Wednesdays and Fridays and goes to a dayhome on Thursdays. The dayhome is a new thing – today is only his third time there.
I was really nervous the first time I dropped him off, but within seconds of arriving, he was playing with another little girl and had seemingly forgotten I existed. “Hey,” I thought, “this is going to be easier than I expected.”
On his second visit to the dayhome, he was a little more shy, tucking his head into my shoulder and holding me fairly tightly, but he went to Janet, the dayhome operator, easily and with a small smile on his face. And he was obviously having a ball when I picked him up, playing and laughing and waving merrily on his way out the door.
Today is day three. I pulled up to the curb as usual, got James and his bag out of the back seat and walked through the front door. James was his usual slightly shy self, but I confidently handed first his bag and then his lordship over to Janet…and it happened. I knew it would, but you just can’t really ever be fully prepared for it.
As Janet set him down on the floor, he turned his baby blues to me and his face crumpled. The pitiful look on his face hit me like a bullet to the heart. I made a quick exit to avoid drawing out the painful goodbye and I could hear his anguished crying all the way down the sidewalk. Only the closing of the van door finally drowned it out. I had to hold back my own tears as I drove away.
Now I know he probably stopped crying as soon as I was gone and something fun caught his attention. I know he has a good time at the dayhome and likely doesn’t give me another thought until I show up at the end of the day to collect him. But I will hear that sad cry and carry this lump in my throat until I see him at 5 p.m. and can finally convince myself I’m not doing him any lasting damage and I’m not truly abandoning him.
This working mother thing is a bitch.
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Dear City of Edmonton,
When you’re planning to close off a road in the heart of downtown during morning rush hour to fill it with bales of hay and cows (yes, I’m serious and no, I don’t know why), you might want to consider putting up some sort of sign or notice to warn the work-going drivers.
Coming bumper-to-face with a cow out of the blue can do traumatic things to an early morning brain that has not yet had its coffee.
Thank you for your attention to this matter (and give my regards to Bessie).
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To the person who broke into my van yesterday while I was work, I hope you desperately needed that ~$5.00 in change and it brought you some happiness. 'Cuz let me tell you, I'm not so much happy.
I'm protective of my personal space at the best of times, but when you violate space that is also frequently occupied by my son, mama bear gets pretty damned growly.
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Memo to all:
That’s not a hickey on my neck – it’s a curling iron burn. Hand slipped, curling iron took a wrong turn and landed on the side of my neck. Hurt like a bitch.
So stop giving me those annoying looks like I’m some silly teenager showing off the products of last night’s grope session. Or I’ll stick a hot curling iron against your neck and see how you like it. You’ve been warned…
(It’s possible I’m still a little grumpy after the horrible mommy/abandoned child crisis and the random cow incident…)
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Happy Birthday, Lisa! Have a great day, sis!! Much love and birthday wishes from all of us!!
For the first time in his young life, James participated in the time-honoured rite of trick or treating, aka “getting complete strangers to give you lots of yummy candy”.
