As I sit here writing this, a very sweet, very capable babysitter is hanging out downstairs with my fussy offspring, while I ostensibly get some work done. The baby keeps crying every five minutes, and I am trying desperately not to intervene. All those years of babysitting never taught me how hard it was to leave your own kid--even to leave them for the other room for ten or twenty minutes. "Oh, we'll be fine," I reassured countless parents as I shooed them out the door. And we were always fine--but not always without some fussiness here or there. And I was never privy to the agony of all those moms driving away in all those cars practically in tears themselves. Or maybe I'm just a hopeless sap.
But my baby is so small and so young and so MINE--I still cannot stand to hear her cry and not at least try to soothe her.
Next time the babysitter comes, it would be smart of me to leave the house so I don't hear the inevitable fussing, but I'm just not there yet. Maybe next week. Or next month. Or when the baby is two.
Monday, January 25, 2010
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