The Best Days

Another day filled with tears because I take my baby to daycare. I hate it. I hate the tears, both his and mine. Every time I walk away, I feel the pressure build inside of me. Then the dam breaks about the time I shut the car door. Repeating the same phrases over and over. He will be okay. He needs socialization. He will have fun with kids his age and group activities. He can sing and dance.

Today, I bent down to say ‘goodbye’ as he clung to my leg, I wanted to promise him that one day I wouldn’t have to work. One day we wouldn’t have to leave him at day care. I stopped myself before those words trickled out of my mouth. Those words are a promise I can’t keep. Working is a fact of life and has been for me since I was 15. There is no magic potion to say here is plenty of money, you don’t have to work now.  I wish there was. Every day could be the endless possibility promising to be the best day of our lives. This is our song. I have played it for him over and over since he was little. Him and I have danced with monsters through the night. We have howled at the moon and watched the sun crash in on us. There are still so many possibilities to be had.

Our weekends are the best days. They are the best times of my life and each new weekend gets better and better.

Although I can’t promise to never have to work again, to not have to take him daycare or to his Grandma and Grandpa’s, I do make one promise to him every time. I promise to always come back. To always find my way into the floor with him so he can fly as I lift him high and swing him around. To always be there to fix his train tracks. To love him so much that I count the minutes til my work day is done. To cherish the weekend breakfasts.

The best days are going by too damn fast.

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Reading this made the lump in my throat start to bubble up again. I count the minutes everyday when I get to pick up from daycare.

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