on (not) getting over myself

First off, my toe is doing much better. It still hurts and has been turning all sorts of interesting shades of purple over the last few days, but I don’t see any bone poking through, so I think I’ll live.

Here are a few snapshots, since SK and others may be wondering about the specific shades…

 

It’s very like a young Cabernet on the actual toe, with a kind of smoky midnight blue tone around the base near my foot. I can’t wait for the swirls of green and yellow to come in as the bruising fades!

Anyway, so I have been running a little. For some reason, wearing my running shoes hurts my toe less than being barefoot. But it’s not that fun because I’m aware of my toe being wonky and I feel like I’m compensating for it at the expense of my other foot. I’m not doing a full-on skip-hop, but it’s close. So I really needed to go to the pool today, for psychological as well as physical reasons, but my husband’s out of town and I have successfully avoided the YMCA’s childcare like the plague, until now.

Okay. I read the GOMI forums. I know you guys will probably call me a smothering mom and a pretentious ass and a whiny bitch and mutter under your breath that I need to check my privilege, but we’re going on six months and I have never left my daughter with anyone other than my husband and my parents. I can’t explain to you what happens when you’re a new mom, but the first time you have to hand your baby over to, for all practical purposes, a stranger, and just walk away, it’s fucking hard. You’re completely neurotic and convinced no one else is quite as qualified as you to hold your baby and change her diaper, and you stay that way until you are at some point forced to get over yourself. Some moms do it sooner than others, and some are better at it than me, but that’s just how it is.

I’ll give you a second to finish rolling your eyes.

The Y’s policy is that they come and get you if your baby cries longer than 10 minutes, so I felt pretty good when I walked away and she didn’t cry, and then made it through my swim without hearing from them. But apparently, she’d gone ballistic exactly nine minutes prior and they just were just about to come track me down when I showed up. Dude, she was crying harder than I’ve ever seen her cry, excepting when the good doctor pulled her out of me. Shuddering, snot glazing the upper lip, big fat tears gushing down. Goddamn it.

Maybe I could have given them a few tips that might have prevented the blow-up? Like, so she enjoys looking at trees…her favorite game is to throw things and have you pick them up…hold her like this, not that…but I didn’t want to be That Mom giving them a rundown of all my professional tips on how to soothe a baby. These people are not retarded. I can’t remember what kind of certification they hold, but they’re at least somewhat experienced in childcare. (At my last gym, they totally looked like a bunch of deadpan, minimum-wage teenagers who didn’t give a shit about babies.) Kenzie probably just realized I wasn’t there and freaked the fuck out.

Also, for 9:30 in the morning on a weekday, there were a fuckload of other kids there. Toddlers running around screaming, other babies babbling and hollering, so it was pretty loud and chaotic. I think I may suck it up and try again in a few days, but maybe go at a different time when there’s not quite so many other kids. You know, because my special snowflake baby requires more personal attention. And other kids are assholes.

Anyway, it’s fine. She didn’t die and I don’t think she will be permanently traumatized. I might be, though. Today’s little experience didn’t do much in the way of curing my neuroses. I probably just need to have a beer and go back to bed.

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18 thoughts on “on (not) getting over myself

  1. I think beer sounds like the perfect cure-all for toes and screaming babies. I will have to leave Alvie Bean with strangers in just over a month, and feel some dread about that. I will be ready to go back to work, but am sad that he can’t come with me (although his 4 hours in the office on Wednesday proved that he would be a terrible distraction, but still…)

  2. You know, I started babysitting at age 9. 9. I was 13 when I started babysitting my neighbor’s 3 month old baby. I was an awesome, super responsible, much older than my years kid, but now as an adult ready to have my own kids soon I am horrified that these parents left a pre-teen take care of their kids!!

    • Oh, same here! Horrified is the perfect word for it. I can’t imagine leaving my kid with me at age 13! But I never dropped or killed any of them, so maybe that’s something to consider.

  3. The first time I left the Spawn with the nanny I ran out of the house in tears, but it gets easier. Now I can’t wait to leave him with other people.

    • Ha! Thanks, I needed that. And I know I’ll look back on this time fondly when she’s a teenager and she’s telling me she hates me and wishes she’d never been born.

  4. ok two things here. 1) I actually went to Tiny Feet (which is like pre-school at the Y here) and look how fabulous I turned out? And 2) I also volunteered in the daycare when I was like.. maybe 12? And I didn’t know shit about babies and it’s kind of a miracle I never dropped one of them. So really it’s just a roll of the dice. If you pinky toe shrivels up and falls off, hell, I can get you a toe by 3 o’clock this afternoon… with nail polish.

  5. Beer is the best way to fix a broken toe. I spent four years working for a medical professor so I totally know what I’m talking about here.

    Sorry about your childcare woes. It’s totally natural not to leave your child with anyone outside your family! And honestly, I’ve had exactly the same issues with leaving our little one in the childcare at my gym. First I felt like a rabenmutter for even considering it, then we had days where all he did was scream and I not only felt even more like a rabenmutter (and had to check whether I was actually sprouting feathers) but I didn’t get to work out at all…now it’s totally fine, and the absolute key thing that changed his whole experience was changing the time of day we went. Not kidding. I used to go after his morning nap, then we switched to early morning so he would play for a bit, then nap there. It was like night and day. He hasn’t screamed since. Who knows why.

    As usual, I ramble. Just wanted to say I know where you’re coming from.

    Also, the GOMI forums scare me. I have a slightly guilt-plagued soft spot for the blog though.

    • First of all, I’m going to start using rabenmutter every day now.
      Second, thanks for legitimizing my neuroses! I was thinking if I took her when she was winding down for a nap, she’d sleep the whole time, but I don’t think she was hip to sleeping with all that racket and the strange lady holding her. I think next time, I’ll go immediately after feeding her, but before she gets too tired and see what happens. If she loses it again, I might consider slipping something in her milk. KIDDING.
      Last, yeah, the GOMI forum can GOMI, but the blog part can SOMI. And YOU can SOMI 4EVA. ❤ ❤ ❤

      • Seriously GOMI forums used to be great but now almost everyone is just a whiny biotch. I want to tell them all to shut up about their kids/EDs/superiority or get their own damn blogs.

  6. I don’t even trust my parents when they have to watch my cat. So I can only imagine what I’ll be like when I have actual human children and have to leave them with someone totally unqualified to watch them, like my mother, who raised three children and spent like 30 years delivering babies as a registered nurse. I’m sure I’ll be all “but is she holding the baby the way I hold the baby??” or something.

    • It’s true, you will.

      I came into my kitchen once and busted my mom about to swat the cat off the countertop. (For some reason, she thinks it’s unsanitary. I KNOW.) You’d think I caught her setting it on fire.

      • I housesit/petsit frequently and have swatted many a cat off a countertop only to figure out in chatting with the owners upon their return that cats on the kitchen counters is a social norm in the household. WHAT GOOD TO KNOW. Suddenly the fact that the cats would run into my room and pee on my clothes after getting chased off the counter made sense.

        Secondly, I want to start using wines to describe my perpetually busted feet. Smoky midnight blue toenails FTMFW. You are a genius.

  7. Yep. Know how that works. I had to put her in long hours of day-care at 16 months, and yes, I was that mom who went back to the day-care to put her baby (!) down for her afternoon nap. And to change her diaper (because of course the day-care ladies don’t have that skill). I have calmed down over the years though I still feel ridiculously worried about stuff.

  8. First off. They are retards. They’re babysitting. At the Y. At 930am. They aren’t pulling down the big bucks doing the one on one nanny thing at $70 a day. They’re humping minimum wage at the Y. We all need burger flippers though. Thank God for them otherwise…

    Two, you would not be there during HOT MOMMY TIME. As I worked swing shift for the last 2 years, I went to the gym at the oddest hours. The best time to be there? 930-1130am. The gym makeup constituted Mom’s Day Out groups, Mommy’s that just dropped kiddo at Kindergarten and was sneaking in a sweaty hour, and the Momm’y that wanted to drop their kids off at daycare for a limited amount of time, just so they could get 45 minutes to themselves to sweat off a few pounds.

    Let’s call a spade a spade. It’s a fucking meat market at that hour. It’s great. I would sweat my fat ass off on the treadmill/squat rack/ bench, and watch nothing but tight yoga pants. Wonderful. It beats the 2am MeatHeads only crowd, the 6-8am Senior Citizens/”I’m a triathlete that does it in the gym”/ “holy shit, I may still be drunk” college crowd, and the After school special 3-5pm hours.

    Anyways, my rug rat is waking up and Mommy is getting her nails did. Time to be Mr. Mom.

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