Duality

It's a time of big change around here. I am about to head back to work with a new team at a new grade level. Little Man started a new daycare. We both have to adjust to the back-to-school routine. All of this is cause for a lot of big emotions -- both Little Man's and mine.

The biggest way I'm seeing Little Man's feelings is at daycare drop-off.  He certainly isn't the first child to cry as the parents walk away, and he won't be the last. Each day has gotten a little better as he finds distractions and regulates himself.  Some days this is easier than others, and I credit the daycare staff with taking it calmly in stride each morning.  We are also only a week in, so the adjustment still feels raw. Some mornings the emotions overwhelm me too, which has really gotten me thinking about why.

At the most basic level, it makes me sad to see Little Man sad.  I know that some of this is developmental; this change happened at a time where Little Man's separation anxiety is starting to kick in as his awareness of his world grows. The logical part of me that knows this is all normal and that he will be fine wrestles with the emotional part of me that feels an absolute gut punch as I walk away from my crying son.  My empathy for him is dissolving into guilt.  I feel parent guilt for having to work, despite knowing the social environment and engagement is ideal for him.  I also feel guilty for how hard change is for him right now and that I can't just magically make it better.  That being said, I also know that adaptability is a skill that has to be practiced -- making life easier for him will actually make it harder.  Ultimately he is where he needs to be, even if he can't understand that yet.

All of these emotions can be true at the same time and deserve space. Strangely, though, there is a part of me that sees Little Man's big feelings as a sign of him growing up. For all of the parts of toddlerhood that are exhausting, there are parts that are so delightful; we can't have one without the other.  He is growing into his own as a person as he writes his story in this world.  At the same time, his clinging to my hand in the morning demonstrates his growing connection to me.  I've written before about feeling rejected when I'm not the preferred parent, but now I have to be.  To be clear, I'm not saying that to brag or to declare victory in some ridiculous contest.  Rather, knowing I'm his safe space makes me genuinely feel like his mother.  Being his safety is not always so empowering; I get the brunt of his anger or frustration in ways no one else does. He looks to me to help him figure out life, which is an honorable but draining role. When he is upset and wraps his arms around me looking for comfort, it breaks my heart and rebuilds it all in the same moment.