Me at work, Margot in Daycare

I had a lot of trouble thinking about this change in our lives in advance of its arrival. It just didn't seem possible that my maternity leave would end, or that I would drop off this baby girl anywhere. When I did imagine such a thing, I saw myself having a complete breakdown at the daycare center. Adam would have to drag me out, screaming and wailing like Sally Field in Not Without My Daughter. 

But it wasn't exactly like that. When we got there on Monday, I cried while Adam fussed over her bottles, which we'd prepared all wrong. We talked to her teachers and tried to pass on all the data we've gathered about Margot's likes and dislikes. We learned that we should have brought a blanket and bibs. Also, we forgot her swaddler. And then it was just time to go. Margot was in good spirits, just like she always seems to be in a room full of babies. So I kissed and hugged her, and hoped she understood we were leaving for a while, and that we'd be coming back. And then I drove to work. 

I get asked a lot if I love being a mom, and I never know what to say. I mean, of course I do. Every cliche about how how much you love your kid is completely true. Every time Margot smiles at me, she adds three years to my life. But this job comes with an unwieldy load of self-doubt and terror. I knew that would come, but I really had no idea how hefty it would be. A lot of the time I feel so loosely tethered to the parenting philosophies Adam and I worked out when I was pregnant that life is a lot like one giant free fall. 

In that respect, work is appealingly simple. There are tasks, and my job is complete them. Talking to grown ups is also pretty awesome. But then something is always missing, like from the center of my chest. I keep feeling like I've left her behind somewhere -- at the bank, or gas station, chilling in her car seat like Nathan, Jr. in Raising Arizona. Hopefully she's having as much fun as he did.