5:17 am on this fine San Francisco pre-dawn.
After three days of heat the City is mercifully blanketed in a beautiful blanket of fog, but there will be no more laying about under the covers for me. My daughter is AWAKE. She announces this loudly and angrily and the lack of sunlight does not convince her that it is not yet morning.
Oh when will the day that I can sleep in finally come?
She asks for yogurt and I manage to scoop some in a bowl despite the fact that my eyelids are still glued shut. (I’m really attractive right now, trust me.)
Oh when will the day come that I can leisurely sip a cup of coffee in the morning?
After breakfast she clamps her arms around my neck and no amount of pleading or reasoning will make her let go, so I resign myself to using the bathroom with my toddler necklace.
Oh when will the day come that I can just pee ALONE?
Since we’ve left our old routine and childcare behind I have wished and hoped for some time to myself, and today that break will come in the form of a wonderful home daycare that Aliza will attend three mornings a week.
Just get through the next few hours and you can nap or write or watch the forbidden television!
While we move through the morning routine I notice that along with her intense need for mommy is her intense need to separate from mommy, so she has gotten dressed ‘bahmahself!’ eaten her buckwheat breakfast ‘bahmahself!” and peed in the potty ‘bahmahself!’
‘Bahmahself’ only takes seventeen times longer than with mommy’s help but I let it slide.
As we drive I repeat the plan for the morning over and over again, pausing to let her fill in the blanks…
We’re driving to…
school!
Aliza will play with her…
new friends!
Mommy will be at…
work!
And after lunch…
mommy will come!
As we walk towards her teacher she grips my index finger with her hand, but I don’t dwell on how small and fragile this makes her seem because my internal dialogue must be upbeat and confident so she knows that everything will be okay.
New friends arrive and I wait for the right moment to say goodbye.
Another mother and daughter part, and the girl cries and calls out for her mommy. Aliza witnesses the scene quietly and I lean down to remind her that her friend is feeling sad but will soon want to play and have fun.
She pulls me in a direction towards the bumpy log and magical fairy flower garden and commands me to come, I choose this as my time to go and encourage her to ‘say goodbye to mommy and play with our friends.’
She contemplates this for a beat as I hold my breath and in the next moment she makes her decision ‘goodbye mommy’
and lets go of my hand.
I’m honestly stunned by this and mentally clamp my mouth shut to avoid breaking her resolve, I make eye contact with her teacher and nod that I am in fact leaving, turn around and walk away.
I allow myself one final glance at her as I start the car, she is holding her teacher’s hand without any tears that I can see.
So naturally by the time I pull out on the main street a whole fountain is streaming down my face.
Isn’t’ this exactly what I wanted? Isn’t some down time absolutely necessary to be refreshed and fully present for her?
Shouldn’t I be gleefully speeding down the highway on my way to some higher calling like volunteer work (or let’s be real a manicure)?
Instead I cry the whole way home keenly aware of the absence of her trilling ‘where are we going’ song on repeat.
Go away.
Come back! I miss you.
The paradox of motherhood.
I understand perfectly. And my kids are out of the house.
My next few sentences would have been about that exact idea, that one day she will be out of the house and how will I feel then? Happy to see you here Preeva!
Yeah. Exactly.
Sigh.
What always shocks me is the intensity of the feelings on the spectrum, GO EFFING AWAY and MY HEART HURTS UNTIL YOU ARE WITH ME. Glad you can relate, and thank you for always coming back though my words are so sporadic
This precisely. Absolutely and utterly completely this.
Oh I know you understand, from the woman whose tagline is ‘I laugh to keep from killing’ I know you get it.
Thank you for visiting me here on the neglected blog!
This is so lovely to read.
And a little heartbreaking, too. Because while I had a tiny pang of “bye, baby!” the first time I dropped him off at preschool, I never cried like that. I didn’t really miss him for those 2.5 hours. I was glad to have him back at the end, of course, but I didn’t miss him viscerally.
And if he’d gotten me up at 5:17? I might have strangled him before I even had a chance to drop him off. But that’s a different post.
I’m sorry did you just say 2.5 hours? That’s not a break! It’s barely enough time for a bubble bath! Of course you didn’t miss him! These days I need 4-6 hours to recharge from full on parenting.
Oh lordy I tell you 5:17 is much more miserable than my feebly writerly efforts can convey. And yes strangulation crossed my mind.
Thank you for being here Cam. I’ve missed you.
And what has surprised me more than I can say, is that the paradox continues long into teen hood and I would think well into adulthood. You see… now I’m worried about how far she will decide to move for school rather than if she will let me walk out the door. I remember when Eldest would wake every morning like clockwork at 5am. You do get to sleep in eventually. I promise.
I have to tell you Dana that your blog and Sherri’s (http://oldtweener.com/) are in my head as I go through my day to day, I really think about how in the blink of an eye I will have a teenager (hopefully several) and it changes the way I go about things. Thanks for returning to me, it’s nice to see ‘your’ face here.
I don’t know this yet, but it will be soon for me, and I’m dreading it and looking forward to it. A paradox, indeed.
You’re at home with BOTH OF THEM AT THE SAME TIME? Where’s the damn medal already? (Not sarcastic at all, I bow down to you)
The gold is being melted as we speak
(and ohmygod yes I am, help!)
Yes. This. A thousand times this.
So glad you can relate. It’s why I forced myself to finally write something, in the hope that someone would relate.
I cannot tell you how much I loved this post. I remember this time with my kids so clearly it feels like it was yesterday, not 15 years ago. You brought back such a bittersweet memory for me and the irony is, I am going through this paradox of motherhood all over again now as my son gets ready to go off to college. Believe me, it doesn’t get any easier. You want… you NEED the freedom to have some time to yourself, but then when you get it, you also miss being needed by your children. My husband keeps reminding me that the job of parenting is to give your kids lots of love and teach them how to be confident, self-assured, self-sufficient people so they can grow up and go out into the world without you. I have a lot of trouble with that last part! Thanks for sharing your story. It was a real gift for me this morning!
The way she held your finger, the way any child reaches and holds a parents’ hand, the way my child’s small hand feels in mine…that for me is the defining moment. Thanks for this. It’s beautiful and true.
So Jack turns 15 next week (holycrapdidijusttypethat) and Karly turns 13 in July.
They sleep later than I do now. I’m drinking coffee at at my computer and haven’t heard a peep out of them. It’s almost nine o’ clock.
This part is bliss, I won’t lie.
And yet.
I am so close to that outofthehouse goodbye, it takes my breath away.
When their teenage friends are over now and they’re loud and eating my cabinets empty and departing to their bedrooms or taking over the garage or backyard, I long for peace and quiet.
But when my babies do leave, I feel the restlessness in my stomach. I pace around looking at the clock waiting to hear when they will be coming home. I have to stop myself from texting them every 15 minutes to check that they are okay.
Yes. Parenthood is the ultimate paradox.
And I believe it will never end…
That was so sweet! I remember those days well, despite the fact that even my grandchildren are past that point, now!
Oh how so true. Which is probably why I haven’t yet signed Astrid up for school…but sometimes lock myself in the bathroom with a cup of coffee and a timer set and tell her she cannot talk to me until it dings.
Love you. Miss you.
Oh, how I remember that. My oldest was almost 4 and I cried and cried.
The youngest still hasn’t given me the goodbye, but I know well the too early and the pee companion and the bamaself and the “Mama, NO!” about everything under the sun.
Oh, it’s going to be a long summer.
Enjoy yours!
You just so perfectly captured the paradox I feel nearly every day – still – when I drop off my child at school that I’m tearing up along with you. And I’ve been doing it for over two years now.
Beautifully written post, Yuliya.
Oh yes, I have felt that same push and pull all at the same time MANY times myself. I’m on round three of it actually…
But it’s alright because you both will do wonderful with that short time apart and then the reunions are all that much sweeter!
Gorgeous and true post, my friend. xo
This is why Cort does daycare drop off. My heart is heavy every. single. time. Even when i NEED desperately to be away.
[...] Late addition alert! I loved The Unbearable Paradox of Motherhood by Yuliya of She Suggests so much, I was willing to slip it in past the regular Friday Tapas [...]
Yep. Times a thousand.
Because, for me, it’s not only daycare, it’s packing them up to spend a couple nights with their dad.
For the five nights it’s the three of us, I contemplate selling them on a regular basis, have to bite my lip from snapping, “For the love of God, will you just CLEAN your ROOM?”, and collapse on the couch in utter exhaustion by the end of the night, too drained to even think beyond reality tv.
And then, they go to their dad’s house and I cry and miss them and make excuses to go over there and visit. Because Joseph really needs that Lego minifigure and Elizabeth forgot her chapstick.
So yeah. I get it. Big time.
I’ve missed your writing, Yuliya! This one teared me up. I definitely relate. Enjoying the present moment is a difficult task for me that I have regular guilt about. Your post made me feel better while making me want to be better! Thanks girl!
This and then Julie’s comment…tears are sitting right here, ready to pour down my face.
My 4 year old still does the hold-on-for-dear-life neck cling and she’s been in full time daycare her whole life. It hasn’t gotten easier.
And now I’m doing it twice a morning.
Hold me.
I’m convinced it’s a personality and readiness thing. For some kids they go off when they are ready, for others they will never feel ready to go off. According to my MIL my husband cried every day until first grade, isn’t that adorable?
Oh I totally understand this. I had one start preschool this year and the tug at my heart to just keep him home was so tough.