the daddy deficit.

i have spent more years than i care to recall waiting for my husband to come back to me.


of course, he wasn't always my husband.  at first, he was one of two boys who shared a flat with me and several other students during my semester abroad. the rest of the girls thought of him as the "weird one."  but i was in love from the moment he accosted me in the hallway to find out just exactly where i had been all his life on the first day of school.

he wore a yellow t-shirt and shorts.  he had a huge working vocabulary and an abiding love of foreign film.  he liked to argue the salient points of deconstructionism and he stole food from our flatmates' cupboards. sometimes he replaced it with pricey organic substitutes, a practice that enraged our other resident male.  (he took all my mars bars and left me with couscous, matt said, through gritted teeth.)  come to think of it, he was kind of weird.  

 
still, i spent plenty of afternoons sitting by the window in our common room, watching the sky get dusky and waiting for him to return to the flat in the hope that he wouldn't go straight to his own room.  if he popped through the kitchen door, it obviously meant that he was truly, madly, deeply in love with me too.  and not that he was after a bacon sandwich.

when he did decide that he was truly, madly, deeply in love with me (and that is another story for another post...or twelve) i was already back in america.  


i spent years scraping the money together to "hop across the pond" or help him hop on over to my place.  and in the weeks and months between visits, i went the stages of grief and more than my share of cookies, while i waited for a time we could be together permanently.


permanently is a pretty strong word.  

the truth is that i never expected that--once reunited--my husband would never, ever leave the my side.  literally.  but someone i know has recently decided that this is a reasonable expectation.  

a little background: my husband is a teacher, so he spent the summer looking after the baby full-time.  they caroused on the couch, hung out by the baby pool, ate lots of yummy snacks and generally yucked it up while i was *slaving* away at the office.  now, the summer is over and the baby is in daycare from 9 to 2.  he has early mornings hanging out with me and then when i pick him up in the afternoon, he heads to the office to finish out the day.  meanwhile, daddy doesn't usually get home until dinnertime.  so all told, the baby spends more quality time with me now that he is in daycare.  but less with time with daddy.

every evening, when he hears the key in the door, sweetie baby shows signs of anxious anticipation.  and then, when daddy walks in the room, he breaks into a huge grin.  

the only trouble is that then he doesn't want daddy to go anywhere.  if daddy deigns to leave the room to change his clothes or go to the bathroom--meltdown.  if daddy walks across the room to grab a drink of water--meltdown.  if daddy stands up and looks in the direction--well anything but sweetie baby--you guessed it.  meltdown.

after so many sweet hours together, the baby is definitely feeling a deficit in his daddy time.  he seems to have a simple plan to combat the problem.  never let daddy out of his sight again.

now someone new waits at the window for my husband his daddy to come back to him, to come home to us. 

wonder who watches out for you tonight?

how to send your child to daycare for the first time.

your problem is that you have always been farsighted. most people don't get that way until they turn forty. but, you were born unable to see clearly the things that are right in front of you. it's a strain to look at your infant son while he nurses. or to see your husband smile as he leans in for a kiss. even though you can see mt. ranier looming on the horizon all the way from texas.

close your left eye--the bad one--so that you can look at your baby. really see him. he lies beside you in the bed, his hair damp and his mouth slack with sleep. for months he's woken up at seven on the dot, but today, he's sleeping late as if he senses a change too. linger in this place, this space. know that as soon as you get up, the spell will be broken.

it hurts to be this close to him.

roll out of bed. make it across the hall before you hear your son stirring. damn, you think, racing back. he's pulled himself up, rocking on his knees, ready to follow the sound of your footsteps. he would crawl right over the edge of the bed if you weren't there to catch him. of course, he would.

put him in the bouncer while you get breakfast together. notice how much taller he's gotten over the summer, the way he's standing flat footed now where once he was on his toes. leave him in the bouncer while you get dressed. leave him in the bouncer while you throw things in the bag he'll take to daycare. diapers--check. wipes--check. alternative outfit 1. alternative outfit 2. milk. jars of food. pacifer. sippy cup. lovie. leave him in the bouncer while you throw things in the bag he'll need when you pick him up from daycare and take him to the office. diapers--check. wipes--check...

impatiently, he waves his arms at you, ready to be rescued again. sweep him up. cover him with kisses. eat him up before giving him his breakfast.

spend ten minutes talking him through the importance of the first-day-of-school clothes. tell him about the unfortunate year that you wore a t-shirt with three laughing cows to start off sixth grade. promise him that someday, when he has a say, you'll try to walk the fine line between letting him make his own choices and protecting him from any mistakes of bovine proportion.

as you load him into the carseat, talk about how much fun he'll have with his classmates, his teacher, his friends. realize that these are his first peers. worry a little. will there be pressure to walk? to talk? to be thinner or fatter or happier?

when you pull up to the school, you notice other mothers getting out more children with more organization. they are better dressed, more well groomed, thinner. worry a lot. run a hand over your messy bun.

his teacher is standing at the door when you get there. she holds her hands out for him and speaks in that high friendly voice that people always use for small children and small dogs. he looks up right away. he smiles and leans forward. "are you ready?" she asks, and you are about to answer that you don't really think you are and then you realize that she is talking to him. "to have some fun?"

stand in the doorway watching him. he doesn't look back at you. instead he fidgets in her arms, wanting to be put down, to go and play. as soon as she puts him on the floor, he scoots to the far side of the room. he puts his mouth on a bright plastic toy, satisfied.

don't cry. this is what you wanted for him all along. remember that if you are going to leave him at daycare with strangers, it is easier for you if he seems to like it.

see you later, baby, you say. and as you walk back to the car, you do just that--see this baby, this boy, in five years. in ten. he is starting kindergarten. he is starting college. and at every stage you imagine him just as he is now. ready to make his move, ready to lengthen the distance between you.

it is a curse and a blessing, this long view.