Meeting the Future Head On

So, yesterday we embarked on “adaptation week” at the crèche. There are only two wonderful days of freedom remaining before my return to the grindstone: The Firm awaits with open arms, a full inbox and monthly payslips that unfortunately only find their way to my bank account on the condition that I at least show up in the morning. It’s tough.
Officially, of course, adaptation week is so the baby can get used to his new surroundings. But as I make my weepy way to crèche with LB clutched to my chest, I’m pretty sure we all know that the person who really needs to adapt is Maman.

I see it in the sympathetic eyes of the staff, and the understanding smiles the other mums shoot me as our heavy hearts pass by in the corridor.
Truth is, it’s not just the separation I’m sad about. It’s the whole lifestyle: this cosy routine / non-routine of milk and coffee and cafés and walks and pyjamas until 11 if we feel like it. It’s the way LB looks at me, that little thrill that – I admit – runs through me when FH and BB leave for the day and baby and I are alone again to enjoy each other, and life. It’s listening to the radio in mid-morning, and mid-afternoon, discovering topics I’ll no longer have a need for when my days are once again devoted to the values of The Firm… and all that that entails.
I’ll miss being out of the loop. The freedom that comes with motherhood: this freedom which, to my immense surprise, I’ve seen emerge over the past few months from what previously seemed like a constraint.

So what do I do?
I do what I always seem to do when under emotional pressure or sleep-deprived: I smash up the car.
Yep, you did read that correctly.
I smash up the car, just like that, on the way to the crèche.

I would say (and the car can confirm) that my feelings towards adaptation week are pretty clear, wouldn’t you?