Joy and sorrow

An hour after I left the daycare -- which happened, I might add, with little fanfare and no tears at all -- I called and asked how he was. "He's fine," they said. "He's not interacting with us or the children much, just walking around and checking things out. He's definitely ok, but you probably don't want to be too much longer."

Half an hour later I was back, and he was indeed fine, but hugged me tight and didn't want to let go and insisted we go home. Which we did. 

It was true, he was fine, but he was holding it together. And so we spent the rest of the day, one on one, me trying to pay as much attention as I could so he felt a little stronger, a little more loved, a little more resilient. We talked about how this was hard, but it would get easier. We talked about how brave he was, that sometimes you need to be brave in new places with new people, about how proud I was of him. He looked at me with his big eyes and told me he wasn't brave anymore, he didn't want to be brave anymore, and I couldn't have been more proud of him. For being that brave, and for it being that hard for my poor little shy introverted son, and for doing it anyway.

We have a long road to go -- he confessed to me that he neither ate nor used the washroom while I was gone. "I didn't want to." and that's something that will -- obviously! -- have to change. But he's coping, and he's learning, and while it's hard to see it, I would far, far rather have him learn it here, where the teachers are loving and the kids are kind, than in grade school where the teachers are too busy to help, and the kids learn how to be mean. 

We came home, and read books, and ate lunch and read more books, and played a little and made some scones and read more books and made dinner and watched a show because mommy was completely tuckered out. All this extra time with him is so great, and I feel wonderful that extra time with me feels restorative to him, I am so glad I provide that comfort and that grounding. At the same time ... I don't know if stay at home moms spend all their energies entertaining the kids all day, but if they do I don't know how they do it -- my heavens it's tiring! At least at work when I need a break I can get up and have one ... at home, there are no coffee breaks. At least, not without tv shows. 

I suppose if I did it more often, or hadn't ever gone back to work, I'd be better at it. But I feel kind of sad and guilty at how bad I am at this. Of course I have done the SAHM thing once a week for the past two years, but somehow one day just doesn't seem as bad as the four or even five I will have this week as we acclimatize. I love my kid more than life itself, and I feel horrible that spending a whole day with him is so tiring for me. 

Then again, reading the blogs of SAHMs often seems to have a recurring theme of "my GOD I'm so tired and getting impatient with these kids!" so I suppose I am not alone. 

I am so proud of him for being so strong, and so heartbroken that he has to be; so glad to spend time with him, and so guilty for being so tired at the end of it and needing my own break. Up, down, up, down. This parenthood thing is hard.