It’s a simple tie-dyed orange and pink shirt, size 2. My oldest daughter got it while shopping with a friend, sitting in the buggy with another 18-month-old. They pulled the straws out of their milks and dumped them on themselves. They thought it was hilarious. Being a new mom I grabbed the clean tie-dyed shirt off the sale rack as a solution in the moment, and quickly changed her shirt.
The two girls are still friends, still getting into mischief togher. And us moms are more experienced.
Those were the days when we had to work to find things to fill the time. When a leisurely trip through Babies’ R Us was a nice way to break up the montonous of the day between naps and the next meal.
Last week, nearly six years later, I ran around the house making use of every last second trying to clean one a corner of my basement and cram it all into the back of my van for another trip to Goodwill. This time there was a baby bathtub, a baby gate, a bed rail and a bag of clothes. As I was getting ready to chuck it all towards the steps of the donation drop off trailer, I exhaled, took a moment and snatched the tie-dyed shirt out of the bag. I just couldn’t do it.
There is nothing special about that shirt. But the memories of it are significant. In a day where there are no more baby bathtubs or bed rails or even cribs in our house, that shirt is a sign of my early mommy days.
They were the days when I didn’t know what the heck I was doing as a new mom. When a little spilled milk on a shirt sent me grabbing for a new shirt off the sale rack because I couldn’t let my laughing (obviously not bothered by the situation) toddler wear a damp shirt.
Today we live in a house where our two-year-old has a twin bed next to our queen bed, with no bed rails. She has slept in a regular bed every night of her life and just KNOWS how not to fall off the bed. And if she spills her milk in the store on her shirt, I know it will dry. And I would be OK with that too.
That wasn’t always the case.
When my first born girl was 21-months-old she had her first day of mother’s morning out program – in the same class as her milk spilling friend. She wore the tie-dyed shirt on her first day. I cried just pulling into the parking lot that morning. Both us young moms fought back tears as we went for coffee after we dropped off our babies.
I was six months pregnant then, which didn’t leave me very hormonally balanced about the whole situation!
My first born was barely weaned and had never been left with anyone other than a grandma. Nine months before that we had moved 200 miles away from any family. I was not getting any kind of break. We had never used a babysitter.
Before it was officially pick up time from the church program, I got a call to come get my toddler. She had been crying the whole day, in her little tie-dyed shirt with her white Keds, curly brown locks and chubby toddler cheeks.
After two mornings of that, the director and me decided this was not going to work for my daughter and I removed her from the program. She wasn’t ready to leave her mommy, even with her best pal by her side. And I don’t think I was ready either.
Great, now what?
We found a babysitter, an awesome college girl, who came to our house and eased her way into my daughter’s life – on her own home turf. Her name was Blair – the same as our dog. So she became known as Babysitter Blair.
After baby number two was born and I had spent a few months trying to get both girls down for naps together and meet all their needs at the same time, I had a different best friend hold my hand as we tried a different mother’s morning out program. It was still not easy leaving my oldest daughter. But I felt better doing so with a working mom by my side – who was more versed than me at leaving babies the care of others.
By the time my middle girl started at her Montessori school (when she was almost three) she got out of the car on the first day of school and walked up the sidewalk with her big sister to her class – without me even getting out of the car! She was all smiles and I knew the loving caregivers there to greet her were real pros at this.
My third baby was about 18-months-old when I started leaving her regularly with another natural mama at her house. I knew I was doing it to make me a better mom, and I was just fine with that. There were no tears on my part that time! Actually, I couldn’t wait to get to the coffee shop for some alone time.
But when I saw that shirt sitting in the Goodwill bag it brought back a flood of memories of the days when I didn’t know how to leave my babies, even for a short time. I felt the anxiety I used to have when I parted from them. I saw my first born with her tearful eyes and crying chest that was at an impossible point of regaining any kind of composure on her own. Then I remembered the immediate calmness within her that came from a mother’s arms when I arrived to pick her up, her hot little body all worked into a tizzy.
I felt like the worst mom ever for leaving her. I was convinced she would never go off to college without me going with her.
Now she’ begging to sleep upstairs, in her own room, all by herself – at age seven.
But when she wore that little tie-dyed shirt I had no idea this day would come – for me or for her.
