ONE More

By Rachel

ONE more. This is what my 2 ½ year-old daughter says when she wants another book before bed. She drags out the word as long as she can, as if to promise that it is only really one more, that she will then go right to sleep without a fuss, and won’t ask for another.

I hear these words echo in my head a lot lately. As I write this, I am staring down at my infant son, who is sleeping soundly as he snuggles up on his mommy. It is his favorite place to sleep. We both find it calming and peaceful.

Tomorrow I am returning to work. He will be starting daycare at 14 weeks old, the same age my daughter was when she started. When she started daycare, I was terrified. She didn’t take a bottle until the last minute and wouldn’t nap in her bassinet. I liked the daycare but didn’t know the people very well yet. In my son’s case, these things are better. He takes a bottle beautifully and the teachers in the infant room are now old friends. So the fear is gone…but I find that I am left with more sadness. I am acutely aware, looking at him next to his sister, that he is tiny and new. He comforts best with me and smiles when he sees me. He is also my last baby. We are happy with our little family, and I am not getting younger.

People say to me, “You’ll be fine, he’ll be fine. It’ll just take a little time.” I know this. I don’t want to hear it. I don’t want to have to be in a situation where I have to hear it, because I am not ready to go back. I am not ready to stop holding him for hours each day. I am not ready to start filling bottles instead of nursing, something both he and I enjoy. In my daughter’s case, daycare really is school, and she learns and thrives there. I cannot give her what she gets there. But I can give my son, at this point in his life, everything he needs.  

I don’t know how much time I would want. Eventually, I would have to go back, and might even want to.

But for now, I want ONE more. One more day, one more week, one more month. Just ONE more.