His rattles spread on the mattress, his soft toy Tuffy lying alone in the corner, his little pants and those wet nappies waiting to be picked up and a mountain of his laundry waiting to be washed.
I am already tired of packing and labelling stuff for his daycare adventure and googling to know when his first tooth would appear, browsing e-commerce sites to look for his needs, sterilizing those containers for him and preparing his feeds for the day.
It's been exactly 23 minutes since I dropped my 6 month old to his daycare center, sitting on the couch I already feel like it's already hours since I met him, saw his innocent smile, his cheery giggle and that unexpected cry. They call it separation anxiety and I call it motherhood.
I should be taking a nap now. But my heart thuds at the thought of, what if they call and say that your son is crying, and that he needs you, come over and check on him. What if I fall asleep and miss their call. I have anyway forgotten on how to sleep alone.
I have pit in my stomach and lump in the throat, even though I know that he is just 750 metres away as per google map on taking the shortest route. He was in the lap of the caregiver when I bid him goodbye, staring at me while I was walking out and then smiling at the lady. I was jealous of the caregiver, because I am his Mom and no one else is!
Am I a bad mother for handing my baby to someone else at such young age? Is my career that important? Is it that easy to pack his stuff and drop him to that center?
For the past 6 months and 13 days I had been longing for some "me-time", read and write and pamper myself and do all that I want, and be myself. But in this span of time, I had forgotten that now I am his Mom first and myself later.
I never knew I would be so habitual of this little person in my life. No matter what the world says, no matter how many societal relations he has with family and extended family, I am the one who carried him inside me and I cannot be replaced. No one owns him as much as I do. Call it obsession or love for him.
Being apprehensive about his well being would last forever. Kids never stay with their parents forever, but a part of them stays in us till the end. And it's just the beginning. The sooner I let him practice being away from me, the better it would be.
Perhaps, the world may blame me for being a harsh mother, a career oriented woman or a parent paying others to bring her child up. My conscience might shake for a while and question me. But I will stand strong and do what it takes to make him a better person.
Because I am not a bad mother, I am doing this to make him independent, disciplined and a good human, and focussing on my career so that I give him a wonderful life.
I am sure my son will be proud of me when he grows up and reads all this.
