Our girl started her first mornings in childcare last week. It’s not our first rodeo: we tried two different settings before she was 1, in vain attempt to settle her before I went back to work, but it went so terribly, we were scarred into not trying again until nearly a year later. She’s deep-feeling, prone to escalating so wildly until she hyperventilates, despite being generally placid. We were nervous, my husband more anxious than I’ve seen him in a while, keen to spare the tiny person from any distress, keen not to see me tumble back into a pit of depression.
To our relief, she has miraculously settled a bit, not entirely, that’s would be too much to ask for at this stage, but to the point that we can silently hold each others hand, in the peace of the car, without a phone call, without someone saying, again, we’re sorry but…
It feels absurd to say that we were never going to get here, but it genuinely felt like that, in the months we have slogged balancing two full-time jobs and one progressively more excitable and adventurous toddler, so I can’t quite believe it. Her progress isn’t linear (see sleep: at the moment we are either skipping our nap and crashing hard at bed, or having a nap and not sleeping til 9pm…), there will be more hurdles. Like everything, that everyone always says, time has been key. We’ve had to accept that it has all unfolded as it was meant to, even if we’ve tried to gently, anxiously, hurry it along.
It’s not a surprise to either of us that she’s done it her own sweet time: both of us were slow settlers, keen not to be parted from our own mums, lots of tears when forced. We both feel things, just underneath our skin, as if our hearts are permanently out and exposed waiting to be squeezed. Someone said, probably multiple people actually, that having a child is like wearing your heart outside your body and it is true. There is pride and happiness all mixed together nestled somewhere just inside my ribcage.
I cried after we dropped her off on that first morning, not because I was necessarily worried, but because she is growing up, all the time, every day, and I’m losing her tiny bit at at time. Time is rushing and rushing and rushing. A year ago, I would have prayed for this - devotedly atheist me - wished for some higher power to influence, or step in and take it all away until she was grown and happy and peaceful. My goddaughter’s mum, who is religious, text me in an act of serendipity at the start of the week, she was thinking of us, wishing and hoping, and I feel like it’s carried us through. I cannot express the relief to feel like I’ve climbed out of a big, insurmountable hole. That we are moving forwards and finding our groove.
Childcare is a complete privilege and it should be freely available to everyone: we are so fortunate to have found it for our daughter, to live where we do, for our biggest worry to be whether she will settle without us or not.
This week we went on our first proper holiday as a family of three. To a UK Center Parcs which is geared up for family fun - and we’ve had loads of it. Nostalgia is powerful as a parent and you want to start building memories with your kid, even if they won’t remember it at all, and so much of this trip was that: woodlands, sunshine, hand holding, shrieks of pure joy. But we’ve also had meltdowns and challenges, a huge heatwave which made our already tentative sleep progress reverse.
Our daughter is almost two and she is developing at crazy pace, reflected in her big emotions both positive and negative. She has done so much this week - so many firsts - after her week of childcare that we owe her grace, but it’s so hard to be patient when you’re being tested by a toddler, who is face down on the floor because you won’t let her touch a wasp.
There has been a slowness to the week in some respects though, which we’ve probably all needed: we properly cooked for what feels like the first time in forever; I’ve managed to start a book which isn’t work-related; we decided to veto any “where shall we move talk”; we’ve walked at O’s pace without remembering to bring a stroller; she’s had sustained tickle fights every day and as many chips as she’s wanted because h-o-l-i-d-a-y.
Life with a toddler is rarely one thing or another, it is everything all the time and all at once. Wish us luck for the next phase, whatever it is and whatever it brings.
So beautifully written. I’m raising a 19 month old son in San Francisco and your words were the perfect poetry to describe what we are going through this morning.