Whew

Dave and I have decided to start Sam in daycare two days a week. It's not an easy decision for me, but I think it's for the best.

It's necessary because I simply have to work. We can't make ends meet any other way. This is complicated by the fact that I refuse to rush him to sleep during the day so I can "get stuff done." And the whole evenings and weekends thing is not working. Even if it were remotely fair to Dave to drop Sam in his lap everytime he shows up at home, I am left with the pesky fact that I am in love with my husband and our son and like to spend copious amounts of time with them whenever possible. So suffice it to say that work is the least of my priorities, until I have a deadline or am totally broke, at which point I stay up working for three straight nights, which kicks up the dust around my fibromyalgia, which makes me feel like I was hit by a truck, etc., etc., etc.

Two days. Supposedly two full days, but probably just from 9 to 3 to start off, while I get used to the idea. We found a really great, loving provider who is close to home. It will be good for him. He can hang around other kids, and eventually play with them. He won't forget who his mommy is. (He won't, will he?)

The fantastic news is that he has started sleeping through the night. This is making me feel better, as it is surely a sign that he is extremely well-adjusted. Also, I'm still breastfeeding, which is hard has hell, but totally worth it, at least for me.

I hope he's happy and that he loves me, although sometimes it's hard to see. He cries for no reason and you think, "I'm a terrible mother." But then you drop him off for a few hours with his grandma, and he cries from the time you walk down the sidewalk until you walk back up it. And grandma says, "You're a wonderful mother." So who are you going to believe?