Our morning routine has become a well-oiled machine, albeit a slightly chaotic one. My partner, Alex, rises early to start his day, while I follow suit shortly after. We then work together to get our little one ready to face the world. Soon enough, we’re all out the door—two adults and a toddler, each of us only half-prepared for what lies ahead.
Let me tell you, it’s not always smooth sailing. Some days, it feels like a scene straight out of a comedy—there’s the inevitable foot-stomping, huffing and puffing, and yes, a few tears (and I’m not just talking about the toddler!). On top of that, at least one of us ends up in a change of clothes (that’s usually me, too). And honestly, it hasn’t always been this easy.
When I returned to work full-time after my maternity leave, Alex was deployed. Talk about a challenge! Those eight months were a whirlwind of emotions, and I’m still amazed at how I managed to juggle solo parenting with a full-time job. Our little one was small, and I was running on fumes. The memories of those early days are a blur, but one thing stands out clearly: each morning I had to make the gut-wrenching decision to leave my baby in someone else’s care while I ventured off to work.
I love my job. I really do. And financially, I knew I had to work, even if it wasn’t my first choice. But that didn’t lessen the ache of leaving my baby with strangers every single day. That heartache still lingers.
This morning, as I dropped off my daughter, I saw a new mom (who looked like she was still in that tender six-week postpartum phase) walking into the daycare. The moment I spotted her, my breath caught in my throat. Suddenly, I was transported back to my own experience, and I could almost feel her emotions radiating toward me.
I watched her from a distance, having just emerged from my daughter’s classroom where our own morning ritual unfolded: hugs, high-fives, kisses, and “I love yous.” My daughter proudly shooed me out the door, waving through the windows as she joined her friends. I smiled, holding tight to those beautiful moments.
Then my gaze fell on this mother. She moved slowly, cradling her baby against her chest, the little one nestled snugly beneath her chin. I could practically feel the warmth of those early days, when I’d carry my daughter down that same hallway, her tiny head resting on my shoulder. Now my arms felt empty, and an icy sensation washed over me.
The new mom inhaled deeply, savoring that sweet, familiar scent of her newborn. I found myself unconsciously taking a deep breath too, reminiscent of that unmistakable newborn smell that still sometimes lingers on my daughter after a nap or a bath—how it connects us in such a profound way.
I could see her eyes flutter closed for a moment, and I knew exactly what she was thinking: Why am I leaving my baby here? Will she be held enough? Will she miss my smell and my touch like I’ll miss hers? Will they understand her cries? Will she ever forgive me?
Oh, Mama, I remember those feelings. Those gut-wrenching “I don’t want to leave my baby” emotions—believe me, I still wrestle with them every single day.
So, to you, Mama, as you hand over your baby and step away, I want you to know that I understand. I see you. I feel you. And I promise, it gets a little easier, even if it never completely goes away.
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In the meantime, take care of yourself. You’ve got this!