Today I left my baby with a stranger

Jennifer Fuller - 14 Jul 16

Ok, so not quite a stranger to me, but a stranger to her.

It wasn’t her dad, it wasn’t her granny or nanny or grandad or pops. It wasn’t an aunty – biological or “fraunty” – and it wasn’t one of my mummy pals who she sees every week. It was, in her eyes, a complete stranger.

And it was the first time I have ever left my 6 month old baby during the day.

Rationally, I knew it had to happen and had been gearing up for this moment, with my plans to return to work weighing heavily on my mind. But I thought I’d be fine. I thought I’d enjoy having some focus that wasn’t baby related, enjoy the lightness of my handbag and being able to walk quickly, without pushing anything, but it felt all wrong and it threw me.

My irrationality and catastrophising, which I normally save as a treat for the middle of the night, crept up on me as I boarded the tube to my meeting. Yes the babysitter had been recommended, but what if she wasn’t really a babysitter and the recommender was a friend of hers not a client? And what if they were part of a baby stealing racket, and oh no she has our house keys too so she can steal our things as well as take our most precious possession. And what are Etta’s most recognisable features to describe to the police? It went on…

Somehow I just about held it together, and with my meeting over I was on the home straight, but the tube had other plans. I shuffled onto a packed platform and as train after train pulled in to the platform packed I felt my anxiety and anger swelling. Did these people not know that my need to get home was more important than theirs?! (irrational me was back with a vengeance). I finally squeezed myself on a packed carriage and internally tutted every time some idiot was not “minding the doors”.

As soon as I was off that tube I started running and did not stop. I ran up the escalator, up the stairs, down the road, across the road, up the road and all the way to my front door  – 0.8 miles of panting and praying that my pelvic floor held out.

When the front door opened I was almost shocked that she was not only still there but totally fine. A little puffy round the eyes and giving me a “where the hell have you been” look , however after a monumental amount of silent staring she broke into the biggest smile and started kicking little star jumps normally reserved for Bieber and noughties hip hop. My guilt tripled.

Now the crazy thing is that of course I knew all along that she was being looked after by a real babysitter. I knew that she was happy-ish for most of the time, hell I even received a photo of her sad but “holding it together” little face a few hours in, but it didn’t help. I felt guilty, tremendously guilty for being the most consistent thing in her life up until now and then leaving her, whilst she was asleep no less, to wake up to a stranger and no sign of mummy.

My own mother has since suggested that I stop engaging with her much, so that my return to work is easier, but that seems crazy. I’ll only get one maternity leave with her so surely I’ve got to use it wisely. And wisely to me is making my little poppet feel unquestionably loved and supported so she can thrive and flourish every day that goes by. Yes I may be setting myself up for a period of heartbreak when I return to work but she’ll adapt, probably a damn sight quicker than I will, and it will be good for us both, even if it doesn’t feel like it right now.

So until then I’m going to take baby steps, apart from when i’m legging it home from the tube for that beaming smile.

xx

Jennifer Fuller

Founder of Etta Loves and mum to little Etta, my inspiration. Navigating the twists and turns of life whilst in a perpetual state of house rennovation. Huge fan of red wine, dark chocolate and instagram scrolling -preferably all at once.

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