You know you're a mom when . . .

Panic. Anxiety. Frustration. Constant thought: I have to get my baby. If I had any lingering doubts about whether I had fully entered motherhood, they're gone. I'm here. Forever.

That's pretty much how Becca's first day of daycare was for me. Kyle got a new job that is full-time. While this is great financially, it also means a temporary end of a blissful watching-Becca-at-home era. I initially thought I would be able to rearrange my work schedule in such a way that I could still spend a day or two at home with her; however, recent HR concerns regarding people working from home prevented this. Additionally, the daycare we decided on could only take Becca full-time, so I guess it worked out. To try to make the transition easier on Becca (and on us) we spent 45 minutes to 1 hour hanging out with her at the daycare, trying to get her used to the surroundings. She was fine. She found a toy or two she liked, and she seemed to enjoy watching the other kids. She didn't even fuss when the daycare lady starting holding her, rather than Kyle or me. She didn't cry when another child started crying/screaming after his mom left. She didn't even cry when the lady holding her walked to the other side of the room from me and Kyle. She didn't cry until Kyle and I were getting ready to leave, I with my purse on my shoulder, and Kyle with the keys in his hand. That's when it started. Still, I'd prepared myself for a tearful separation. I tried not to draw it out. I said goodbye and walked out the door. Unfortunately, we had to stop up front to finish a few things for her enrollment, and I could hear her crying. Still, I pushed on. I walked out of the building, feeling a slight burning behind my eyes as I thought about leaving my baby all day. I pushed the feeling back. The day passed surprisingly quickly, and though I thought about her a lot, I tried not to focus too much on how long I was leaving Becca. I was quite proud of myself; until I was finished with work. It was silly, and in hindsight, not worth it, but due to a need to run some errands, Kyle and I decided to trade cars so I could use the more gas efficient car to get Becca, then pick Kyle up and complete the errands. Never again will I do that. Not only did I have to fight traffic to get to Kyle, but I had to fight traffic to get to Becca. I never understood the Utah trend of tailgating until yesterday: maybe they are all mothers trying to get their babies from daycare. Okay, so I know that's not true, and I didn't tailgate, but if I thought it would have gotten me to Becca any sooner, I maybe would have tried it. I had to remind myself to breathe and to remember that she was fine (I'd called only once during the day . . . I'd found that she was fine, until a new person, such as the one taking the phone in to the caretakers, entered the room, and then she'd cry). I could barely contain my anxiety. I didn't listen to the radio because it only made me more agitated. I gripped the steering wheel to try to keep myself together. After what perhaps felt like the longest drive home in my life (it took 45 minutes), I finally got my baby. She didn't even cry when she saw me. She smiled a little, seeming a bit in a daze (I found out later she'd missed her naps completely) and lifted her arms to me. I must admit, I was shaking a little from being so tense on the drive home, and because I'd kind of lost my appetite and hadn't eaten much, but I was so relieved to have her again, safe in my arms. I managed to get her outside and to the car before I sat down. It was a very tough day, but it was the first. Now on to the rest, which I'm sure will be a bit less worrisome, as long as I don't have to trade cars again.

The best part was when Kyle called to see where I was and I had just picked up Becca. I told him I had just had the most anxiety-filled drive I could remember. He was baffled. Why? Moms and Dads must be hard-wired differently. Either that, or I'm just plain odd.