On Tuesdays and Thursdays this semester, my first class is at 8am. Since I have to drive nearly 25 miles to get to work, that means Daniel gets to his daycare extra early on those days.
Since turning one year old this past weekend, Daniel is now in the Infant III room this week, which he’s a little bit familiar with, having visited that room last week (when he was still in Infant II). But this morning, nobody was in Infant III that early in the morning, so he had to be in the Toddler room.
Not only had he never been in that room before, but he also had to have his breakfast fed by a person he had never seen before (the Toddler room teacher). While I was there, talking with the Toddler room teacher, Daniel settled into the feeding station, looking around (other toddlers were there at the table). I kissed the boy good-bye, left the room, and waved bye-bye through the window. So far, so good.
But after I dropped off Daniel’s diaper bag and bottle and signed the medicine log, I peeped through the Toddler room door’s window, and saw the Toddler room teacher trying to feed Daniel, whose little eyes were squinched up and his little mouth were open and turned down as he cried, looking around for his mama.
::deep deep breath::
There are times like that, when I think, “Is working worth this? Is it?”
Being a working mom is hard, but on a morning like that, it’s like a knife through my heart.