Warping Mom

I just had lunch with the kidlettes and Hubby. I go home, nurse S, play with the girls, eat a bit, have a chat, then return to the monotony that is The Office.

N has been telling me that S cries when I'm gone. A Lot. Now, who knows what A Lot means to a five year old. A Lot can mean the tiniest spot of bell pepper in her dinner, or A Lot can mean more than the sixteen kids she wants to invite over for a tea party. But, to this working new(ish) mom, any sentence including the words "crying" and "baby" is A Lot.

She seems perfectly happy when I come home for lunch. Ok, she's usually asleep. Sometimes she has a sweaty back - then I know she's been crying A Lot. If she's sniffling in her sleep, I know it's been a very bad morning. Breaks my heart. Makes me almost wish I worked too far from home to come home for lunch. But not enough to foolishly make that wish.

Hubby says she does fine now. She only cries five to ten minutes before she falls asleep. WHAT? I don't cry-it-out. I co-sleep, for goodness sake. Crying more than 30 seconds for an infant is too much in my eyes. Babies cry for good reason, it's their only way to communicate.

The devastating thing here, you see, is that she's crying because she wants ME. And I'm not there. She cries for five or ten or apparantly more minutes because Daddy can't give her what she really wants. He's a great Daddy, but he's not Mommy. Whatever that means, it must mean A Lot to my infant daughter. It's not his fault she cries, it's mine. And I can't do a damned thing about it.

I like having a Hubby as a SAHD. I much prefer it to day care, because I get a full report on how they are doing, I know someone is always there for them and not distracted with someone else's kid, I have care for them when they are sick, they can make spur-of-the-moment plans, heck... forget the logistics, I simply like my kids being with family. I know day care has its benefits, and there's absolutely nothing wrong with parents putting their kids in day care. I just happen to really appreciate our arrangement.

But some days... more than I care to admit... I wish it were different. I wish I were there for every tear, every boo boo, every smile. Or it were someone besides Daddy holding her as she cries, so I could pretend that it really isn't all my fault.