Our son William was 20 months old when playdates, birthday parties, and Mommy and Me classes ground to a halt due to the pandemic. I’m not sure William qualifies as a true “covid kid” because he wasn’t born during the pandemic, but to be sure, his childhood and our parenting has been shaped by it. Despite the pandemic, he’s very interested in people and embraces new situations with confidence. At some point in the summer of 2020 we began to bubble with my close friend and her family and this allowed our sons to spend time together consistently over the past two years. William calls her “Mum.” He is now almost four, and a little because of his age, a little because of the dynamics of my marriage, but mostly because of the pandemic, he had fairly limited experience in the homes of other people besides that of Mum’s, and has not been to other people’s homes without me or my husband with him. But yesterday that changed. I had an event I wanted to attend and my husband could not join me because of work. My mom, our usual first stop for babysitting, was attending the event with me, and our other family friend who babysits wasn’t available. That left us in a situation where we needed to consider leaving William with someone else outside our house for a few hours.
In my marriage, my husband is the more cautious and anxious parent. If there’s a tree my son wants to climb, I encourage him to do so safely, while my husband worries aloud that he’ll fall and break a bone. When our son learned how to ride his pedal bike, my husband wanted him outfitted in a helmet, knee pads and elbow pads. I thought a helmet and long clothing sufficed. We deliberated that particular topic for weeks. He is generally uncomfortable having others, no matter how trustworthy or competent, watch our son for extended periods of time. When William was around nine months old, we left him in my mother’s care for an evening, and that was a tough moment for my husband (but not my son!) He had resisted making time for a date night for months, but finally relented. Nonetheless, he had a hard time relaxing through dinner and we spent an inordinate amount of time watching videos of William. Seeing our baby on the screen was like a balm, cooling our separation anxiety.
For my part, I feel it’s important and necessary for our marriage, and for our son, that others we trust have a chance to care for him. In my mind, it gives us the flexibility to have time together as a couple, and gives my son a chance to develop bonds with other loving, trustworthy adults. So for this occasion, I suggested we ask Mum if William could come to her house. Mind you, the total amount of time he would be in her care was about three and a half hours. There were moments when this felt like an absurdly long time and moments when it seemed absurd to even worry about it. While my husband hemmed and hawed about the merits of this idea, my commitment to it was growing by the minute, so much so that I grew somewhat agitated by the prospect of him not agreeing to it. I can’t believe I have to convince him of this! Why is he making this so difficult? William will be fine – this will be good for him!
Yet the moment he told me to go ahead with it, my indignation withered and in its place was worry. Would William really be okay without me and not in our home? Their last playdate ended poorly….would it happen again and without me there to help him? What if he feels homesick? What if he gets hurt? The what if’s went on and on. Moments after my husband agreed to the idea, I had nearly talked myself out of it. And if that wasn’t enough, I also heaped on a pile of discounting my own needs in service to what my husband thought was best. Maybe he is right – I should just go by myself. What’s the big deal? Does going with my mom have to be so important? Shouldn’t I prioritize William’s needs? He’ll be happier here at home with Grandma. I felt stuck. I felt really uncomfortable. Here my husband was giving me what I said I needed, and suddenly I was backsliding. Backsliding turned to indecision. So I did what I always do. I turned to the seasoned mommies in my life. And what did they all say? “He’ll be fine.” “You’ll have to do this at some point anyway.” “It’s harder on you than it is on him.” “He can talk now, so he can tell you what happened.” Even the most cautious of the seasoned mommies I know relented that although she didn’t let anyone else watch her young children besides her mother, ultimately she thought it was important to not hold on so tight and to trust that things are likely to work out just fine.
Armed with the support of four veteran mommies, I sent a message to Mum telling her we’d be there at 4:30 sharp. She said “I’m excited! He likes salmon, right? I’ll make him salmon.” This melted my heart and was all the reassurance I needed, apparently. I prepped my son, but not too much. I told him to have fun, follow Mum’s lead, and that he could have her call me anytime if he wanted to be home. We arrived at Mum’s, chatted at the door for a few minutes, and then I told William I was leaving. He leaped into my arms and hugged me hard, harder than usual. My mom started tearing up and turned away. He stood at the threshold of the door, paused, and looked up at me. I told him I loved him and would see him at dinner time. He walked in, and as I caught him looking back at me with a mix of uncertainty and curiosity in his eyes, Mum gently stroked his head and closed the door behind her.
The seasoned mommies were right, but only partially. The time he spent at Mum’s went smoothly. No meltdowns or fights between the boys. He ate dinner with their family and said he liked her food. He loved playing with a different Dad. When I picked him up, he smiled at me, but kept right on playing, and asked why we had to leave. All good and not surprising, right? But here’s the part the mommies left out. When my son got home, out of the blue he began to cry the moment we walked in the door, simply because I told him it was bedtime soon (that kind of response to bedtime is not typical for him). He was quiet but restless at bedtime, and it took a while to help him settle to sleep. He woke at 3:30am crying and shrieking for me, and when I arrived at his side and asked him what was wrong, he said he missed me and needed to see me (also not typical night time behavior). The next day, he didn’t play as independently as usual. He wanted me to feed him, hug him and be with him at a level that was also unusual. It didn’t occur to me until later in the day that he was likely metabolizing this new experience of being apart in a new setting.
As for my husband, he seemed relieved that all went well, but unsurprisingly he reserved his skepticism for the whole endeavor. After hearing about our son’s difficulty the following day, he inquired once again as to why I couldn’t have just gone alone? The truth is that going alone would have actually been the easier, default way for me to handle this situation in the short run. But I knew that in the long run resentment would creep in, and the feeling that I can’t act on what I need would have left me feeling powerless. Somehow this time I had the presence of mind to remind myself that it really was okay to prioritize my needs for an evening, and that my son (and husband) would be just fine. He’d be prickly about it for a while, but assuming it went well, it would remind him that we have others who can support us in raising our son. I’m not sure that’s completely sunk in yet with him. But I find myself feeling very fortunate to have a friend in whom I can trust, whom I know loves and cares for my son, and whom I could call upon when I needed her. And dare I say a little proud of myself, too?
