Choosing Baby (Pt 2) – From D.I.N.K. (Double Income No Kids) to S.I.N.K (Single Income New Kid)

My husband and I had lived the D.I.N.K. life for eleven years when we became pregnant. We ate out most days, sometimes for two meals. Bought whatever gadgets we wanted, books and movies galore. We planned a yearly vacation and had weekend retreats in between. Life was good and we were pretty happy. None of that compared to welcoming our daughter to the world.

All the material cluttering our lives melted away and seemed so much less important. It was nice, don’t get me wrong. I like my movie collection. I like that we have walls of books covering our house. I really like our house. I LOVE my baby girl. More than I thought I was capable of loving. So, as my leave approached its end, our conversations began to drift from all the things we would do with our daughter, and started being framed as all the things we would miss while she was in daycare.

That’s when it started getting really bad for me. I’ll be honest, I was dying inside already. Waking in the night crying and not knowing why. I felt this aching sense of lose and I couldn’t pinpoint its cause because during the day I was so genuinely happy and fulfilled.

We had found a great daycare and we had a smooth transition plan in place. I would return on a short week while Daddy stayed home with baby so I could get back in the groove without fretting daycare right away. Daddy would work four tens and have Fridays off and I would use vacation to be home Mondays for five weeks. I thought it would work out. I hoped I would survive it, after all, lots of other moms do it. Right?

After the first week we knew what our hearts had been telling us. It doesn’t matter what other people do. It matters what we do, in the here and now. Because in only a week she was already acting different. Coming home tired and cranky. Sullen and reserved when put down, like she didn’t expect us to come back for her. That was enough. I might have survived the gruelling schedule, we may have been able to make it work. But at what cost? How much of our sweet social baby would be chipped away as the hours in daycare grew longer once I ran out of vacationed Mondays? If one week could instill noticeable changes, would one month be worse, or one year?

In the end it came down to one simple truth. When your lying on your deathbed the things you’ve owned mean nothing, the only things that do, are your memories and the loving relationships of your life. The things you DID. I can always go back to work if this new life doesn’t fly, but I can never get back my baby’s childhood or the time we would lose together while working outside the home earning not a whole lot after daycare costs.

So for her, because I love her more than I can articulate, I will embrace this new life. At full speed with as much optimism and bravery I can muster. This is for you my love. My time. My attention. My every breath.

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