Finding Your Way Home

Welcome to the Rat Race

How did my life come to this? I asked myself this question one evening years ago as I sank, utterly exhausted, into a tub of warm bubbles. As I relaxed into the soothing water, I let my mind wander over the fast-paced events of my day. I was a thirty-year-old first-time mother of a five-month old baby boy. I was a college-educated advertising professional, with seven years’ work experience. My husband, Willi, eight years my senior, was a commercial photographer with an engineering background. We both put in long hours on our jobs and had been married for two years.

I thought back to how this particular day had gone.

6:30 a.m. The alarm went off and we were up and running – showers, breakfast and a quick perusal of the newspaper before the baby awakened.

7:30 a.m. The baby was stirring. I delightedly scooped him up from his crib, but with no time to play, dressed him immediately and fed him his bottle.

8:00 a.m. The mad rush was on to get everything ready for the baby’s day at the daycare center and our day at the office. I placed filled and sterilized bottles, diapers, medicines and changes of clothes for the baby in the diaper bag; and set out lunches and briefcases. Willi grabbed his lunch and with a hurried kiss to the baby and me, was off to work. I got the baby’s coat, hat, gloves, and booties and loaded him into the infant car carrier seat. I grabbed his diaper bag, my lunch and briefcase, and, after making two trips to the car with all our gear, raced off to the day care center.

8:30 a.m. I arrived at the day care center with the baby. We rushed in; the baby still buckled in his car carrier. I signed in and hurried down the hall to the infant room. As usual, I was running late for work, so I asked the caregiver to please take care of getting the baby out of the carrier and his winter gear. I placed a quick kiss on my sleepy infant’s forehead, and with a lump in my throat promised to return at lunch. I said a quick prayer of thanks that his center was located just one block from my office.

9:00 a.m. I arrived at work choking back tears. I felt bewildered to still have these feelings of guilt, grief and remorse over leaving my new infant in full-time day care. I had thought that by now, the awful feelings would dissipate; after all, I had been back to work for three months.

12:00 p.m. I raced to the day care center for lunch with the baby. I spent a bittersweet half-hour playing with him in the nursery’s “fun box.” I was again thankful for the opportunity to be close enough to the center to visit during the day, but I still dreaded having to tear myself away from him when it was time to return to the office.

12:30 p.m. I returned to my office desk, choking back tears again. I ate half of a sandwich brought from home and drank a cup of coffee.

1:55 p.m. I arrived five minutes early for a staff meeting. My colleagues asked about the baby. “Oh, he’s fine,” I had said, “probably napping, right now.” I would have loved