There are some things that it’s just best that you don’t know about.
You know, like the real cost of whatever gadget Mr Muddling has bought (yes darling, I can read receipts…), what is hidden behind the sofa and how much your children miss you when you’re at work.
Friday didn’t get off to a great start. I went into work a bit late so I could take Bigger to nursery. Its the first time I’ve done that. Ever. Which is probably a bit rubbish but what happens when you start a new job and are trying to get things to work out ok. But I had had a couple of late nights at work and so felt it was ok to take a bit of time to drop her off.
I was a bit apprehensive about it. The nursery had been a bit funny when I’d said that New Nanny would be dropping her off on her first day – my logic was that it would mean less change and drama and hopefully make it easier on all concerned. They gave the distinct vibe that they felt that perhaps I should be there. But I wasn’t and it was a success and all went very smoothly. So smoothly Bigger never even looked back as she sprinted into the room.
But Friday was my turn and I guess I had hoped for it to be something it probably couldn’t be. You see I’d have quite liked it if the nursery staff had said hello to me, made some effort to engage with me, had at least said something about how Bigger was doing. Instead I stood around like a lemon trying to work out what to do, plastered a manic ‘please talk to me’ grin on and tried not to feel a bit, well, hurt that they couldn’t understand the effort it had taken to get there to drop her off this time.
I’m now wondering how I can be more engaged with nursery when I can’t physically do the drop off or pick up every day, when I can’t be there, when I am different from all the other mums who are there more of the time. I’m wondering why they couldn’t make a bit of an effort to make me feel welcome. I’m wondering why I care so much about all this but I do.
It turns out Bigger wasn’t too well on Friday. That she ended up spending the afternoon curled up with Granny and feeling sorry for herself.
It turns out she missed me.
That she wanted me.
That she stood by the window and told Granny that she was going to stand there and wait for me to get home.
It was bad enough to hear that once. But it was repeated a lot over the weekend. A lot.
I already felt bad enough just knowing it had happened. But each time you repeat it to me its like a kick in the heart. I know that my choice to work has consequences for the girls. But I really don’t need the mental image of my big girl stood waiting for me to come home and knowing that I didn’t get home for hours after that.
There are some things I’d rather not know because once I do know it makes me feel terrible. And each time I hear it, it hurts just a little bit more and makes me doubt my choices just a little bit more.