relapse.

(photo courtesy of jocelyn k. brown photography.)

I took last week off and spent my days with Caleb. Just the two of us. It was perfect. We cuddled, took naps, destroyed the house, were trapped during a snow day, stared at each other, cooked, practiced walking, took many falls (him, not me), played, cried, didn’t shower very much, and stayed in our pjs way too long. Like I said, perfect.

I remembered what it was like to spend my days with him being my “job.”

And then the week was over, seemingly in a flash, and before I knew it I was heading back to work and he to day care.

That morning, Caleb cried on the way to day care. And as I handed him off to his teacher, he whimpered a little bit as if he had gotten a little too used to our days together, too. I said my goodbyes and lingered a little longer than usual. Then, I walked down that hallway feeling like I might burst into tears at any moment.

That day, it was so hard to leave him.

I thought back to this letter I wrote to him seven months ago when my maternity leave had ended and I had to take him to day care for the very first time. I had dreaded the day. Here is an excerpt of that letter:

(from June 2010)

Dear Caleb,

I write this to you with the biggest lump in my throat. For weeks I've avoided thinking about going back to work, and when I did, I couldn't help but cry knowing that someone else would get to soak up every single moment of the day with you and your little smiles, looks, giggles, coos, cuddles, meltdowns and that sweet little face. I want that to be my job. Only it hasn't been a job. At first it seemed like I was the most unlikely candidate to take care of someone as precious as you. And now it just seems like this was what I was born to do . . .to change your diaper, feed you your bottle, bounce you to sleep, dangle toys in front of you face, try to keep you occupied when you are bored, fed when you are hungry, soothed when you are tired and loved all the time.

But the time has come little man. Next week I will be dropping you off at daycare and into someone else's arms to care for you for eight hours every Monday, Tuesday and Friday. In a month, it will switch to every weekday. And I know people do it all the time. I know I will be given strength and I know He will watch over you. I know I will probably enjoy being back at work and having certain freedoms. I know all of this. But still, my heart hurts. Badly.

I just miss you so much already.

Reading that made me feel so much thankfulness for where we are today. The hard part is over. I am so thankful for our day care. His teachers love him and squeeze him and answer every question we have at the end of each day. They tell us exactly what he ate and when and what games they played and what new and fun things he did. They miss him over the weekends and have extra big smiles and hugs for Monday. They get exactly just how amazing he is. And I’m so grateful for this.

So this recent sadness was just a temporary relapse. Because every single day I walk down that same hallway with great assurance knowing that he’s in perfect hands and that he’s having fun, learning lots and being loved.

The hard part is OVER. I still miss you every day, Caleb, but am so thankful for how God provided the absolute most perfect place for you and for us.