At 4:45am I soberly awoke and began tp pack up my son for our first day apart. I carefully made sure his favorite book and CDs were in his diaper bag. I rushed around and collected the little baby things that we use throughout the day. It was only a short drive to my sister Kim’s house and the entire way I reminded myself how lucky we were to have her and the rest of our family to help. I smiled and then I began to cry. I cried for the guilt I felt. I cried for the feeling that I was abandoning my son. I cried at the image in my head of scooping my little baby boy up from his sleep only to thrust him into the great big world outside of our home. All I could think about was the story of Moses. Even though Ian’s life is not in danger; I feel akin to his mother forced to put her baby in a basket and push him into the Nile River amongst the bulrushes and weeds. I comforted myself with the image of my sister Kim being my pharaoh’s daughter rescuing him, but the tears fell regardless.
It’s a bit of a dramatic parallel to draw but it is equally as dramatic emotionally, to drop leave your baby after spending 9 months waiting to meet him and another couple concentrated months opening up your heart completely and teaching him to trust and depend on you.
Day 1: I must tell you Ian that I hope this is harder on me than it will ever be on you. In the midst of your fussing and frowns you have managed to flash brilliant toothless grins and hold my hand with an inner strength and calm I never thought a baby could possess.
It’s only fitting. When I rummaged for tissues I came up lacking and have been crying all day into your little cap that was in my purse.
I have to stop now because I’m crying again. I love you.