We both take the girls into "school" every morning at 7:20 or so. We head off to their respective rooms, switching off every day who goes with each girl. We have to leave by 7:35. It is dreadfully early for them. It causes me much sadness. I try very hard not to show them that.
They are very used to this routine. I guess they just assume it's normal life, spending 9.5 hours a day, five days a week, in the care of other people. In institutionalized care. They probably don't realize that some kids don't go to "school." They have accepted it as part of life. And UCDC is amazing, and they are generally very happy there, and drop-off is a peaceful, even sometimes cheerful, time. Pick-up is always a cheerful time. When we arrive, they run to us, squealing with delight, and are all smiles. Never are they crying when we arrive, or disengaged, sick of being there, sitting alone sadly. Never.
But yesterday, Anna didn't want to be dropped off in the worst sort of way. I was the one to take her upstairs, and my departures, with both girls, are slightly more rough than Mike's departures. They are both more emotional about me leaving. Do they love me more? Are they more attached to me? Or is it the separation anxiety?
Not theirs. Mine.
I wonder if they can sense that I hate leaving them there? I wonder if they feel my sadness and anxiety over it?
But it's such a double-edged sword. I wouldn't want to be a stay-at-home-mom either. I know that I wouldn't handle that well. I guess I wish that I could just work for, say, 5 hours a day, so not have to drop them off until 10:00 and then be able to pick them up at 3:00. Which is silly, of course. Not only is it not economically feasible, it would be absurd to send them to school to play for one hour, then eat lunch and take a nap. I just feel guilty all.the.time that they are there for such a long day. It's a long day for me. So what must it feel like to them?
And their sleep is suffering from the length of our days! Add a half hour commute to each end of our school/work days, and we are out of the house for 10.5 hours. 7:00 AM to 5:30 PM. We have to wake them up at 6:00 to be ready to go by 7:00. If we were to give Emmy the 12 hours of sleep a 2-year old needs, we would have to put her in bed 30 minutes after we get home. Which would mean a hasty, non-nutritious dinner, and then no playing, no bath, no unwinding. Not possible.
So what am I to do? I suppose I have to get over it. I have to look at the facts and accept what we are doing:
- UCDC is among the very best centers in Pittsburgh
- they are happy there
- they are healthy and well-adjusted
- they are used to our routine
- they don't know that it could or should be any different
- we are doing what we have to do to provide a secure future for our family
So it is my anxiety, not theirs.
But yesterday, when Anna was inconsolable at drop-off, I left her screaming hysterically, and it felt like my heart had been ripped out. I went to Mike's work with him, we parked the car, and I was really upset. I felt like something was truly wrong. Mike suggested that I could walk back and just peek in on her from the observation room. Of course! Perfect! So I did. And from the observation room, I couldn't see her, but I could hear her. Still crying hysterically. 20 minutes after I'd left.
I ran into the room. She ran to me. She was nearly inconsolable. Her face was red and splotchy, she was gasping for air, her little body was shaking. I tried to assess for signs of physical illness (wheezing? fever? rash?), but she seemed perfectly fine. Except for the hysteria. I decided that she was just having a terrible, horrible, no-good very bad day. And I have those sometimes. And sometimes you just need a little extra love. So I stayed. I promised her I would stay until she felt better. I dug in my heels, she lay in my lap, and she stayed there, refusing to talk, for a long time. Eventually, she was calm. We talked. She relaxed. She made a card for her great-grandmother's birthday. I told her what time I absolutely had to leave (when the long hand of the clock points at the 8--8:40 AM.) She watched the clock. She was still a little teary when I left, but she was okay. I knew she would make it.
I wasn't so sure about myself.
But life goes on. Today was another day, and all went fine at drop-off. I deifintely worry that I have set a precedent, that I will just go to work an hour late and coddle her, but I think we will be okay. It is critically important to me that she know that I will be there for her in her time of need. It's the very least I can do.
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