Separation Anxiety

In the days before Finley (B.F.), Heather and I were quite the upwardly mobile couple. It seemed like every week there was some sort of event or show on our calendar. A concert here, a movie preview there… There was a rum and salmon tasting party last summer and an oyster fest in the fall. We went to the openings of musicals and the occasional quiet romantic dinner on our own. Oh, how things have changed.

These days there’s still some salmon, but not nearly as much rum. The concerts are performed by the “Baby Einstein” orchestra and movies are definitely not previews… they’re pay-per-view. And the quiet, romantic dinners aren’t as quiet or romantic… in fact, they’re barely dinners.

For better and for not so bad, we have been sequestered to our condo. And unlike Paris Hilton, we get to stay in our at-home detention facility. But it really isn’t that bad. We’ve got our hands full of Finley and in the long run, it’s much more entertaining than oyster shooters.

So, for the past three months and one week, we’ve adjusted to a life that is all things baby. Obviously, everything we do revolves around her. Eating, sleeping, shopping… You name it. Whatever we do involves at the very least an extra diaper, a stroller and a bottle or nursing paraphernalia. It’s all a routine. We’ve got it down. So what did we decided to do after twelve weeks of routine? That’s right. Change it up.

Since our first day home from the hospital, Finley slept next to our bed in the wonderful cradle my brother hand made for us. We could hear her little breaths and cries and gurgles. If she got to stirring too much, we could just reach over and rock her back to sleep. Until last week. That’s when Heather decided (and I agreed) that it was time for Finley to move to her crib. In her own room.

Modern technology allows us to monitor her every breath, cry and gurgle through the magic of radio waves. Basically we plopped down fifty bucks for one-way walkie talkies, but the comfort factor is there. And even with science on our side, Heather insists on having the nursery door AND our bedroom door open. I’m not exactly sure why both doors need to be open, but that’s what she wants and I’m not allowed to argue.

The thing is, even with both doors open and the walkie talkies, those first few nights were tough on Heather. At first it bothered me that I wasn’t more worried, but I think it’s because I knew that Heather was basically channeling concern for the both of us. There’s no need for two sleep-deprived parents.

As far as Finley is concerned, she has no clue. She’ll sleep anywhere. Give her a blanket and something soft to lay on and she won’t complain. So she’s actually fine in her own room. Which will be good for everyone down the road. It’s been a week and Heather is sleeping much better. That’s probably because both doors are still open.

Our other foray into changing the routine was an attempt to reclaim one of our past indulgences. We had a pair of tickets to The Police reunion concert, which meant, gasp, we needed a babysitter!

Luckily, Heather’s best friend, Gina, was up to the task. I’m not saying Heather was too worried about leaving Finley behind, I’m just saying that while Sting and the boys were rolling through the old hits, she had a firm grip of her cell phone… the entire concert. Of course, everything was fine and FinleyWorld continued its rotation.

Now I’m starting phase two of my paternity leave, which means four weeks of Daddy/Finley time. (Well, three really, since my first week of paternity is Heather’s last week of maternity). But at the end of my three weeks, it’s all over. No more daddy time. No more mommy time. It’s daycare time. Talk about busting the routine.

We’re about to let Finley go into the big world without us. Okay, so it’s an accredited daycare facility and it’s less than a mile down the road, but we won’t be there! It’s going to be tough, but necessary. She’ll be able to get used to new people and meet other kids. Still, we’ll have to drop her off every morning. On the bright side, she’ll barely know what’s going on and at this point, won’t be able to call out our names. Because this is just the first of many times we’ll drop her off, send her out, let her go. For the next eighteen years at the minimum there will be sleepovers and campouts and eventually college or a new apartment. The tough and confusing part is that every time we let her go, it won’t get any easier. We may get used to it, but we’ll still worry. And that’s the joy of parenting.

What it comes down to is this: I’ve got three weeks of daddy time left, and I don’t plan on wasting any of it. That’s the other joy of parenting.