Butter is going to walk with us to school tomorrow, and then I’m going to bring him to the playground where I’ll hand him off to his new sitter for a couple of hours.
I’m terrified. I’ve never done this. And I think it’s too late to change my mind.
We never had a sitter for Peanut. We have since found someone who has taken both boys for outings maybe a handful of times. A few friends have read a book in our living room after the boys are already asleep so we can go to meetings or birthday parties.
Otherwise, it’s been all me, Spouse, and grandma.
This is a bigger leap of faith than walking onstage alone. This is a more terrifying leap off the ledge than submitting my novel to agents. This is a bigger step into the abyss than marriage, natural childbirth, or the first few strokes of a triathlon.
This might even be a farther stomach-plummet than watching Peanut line up for kindergarten. My innards fell seventy-two stories that day, and splatted in the basement as he walked into the classroom.
And this feels even worse.
I will hand my baby over to a virtual stranger, fake a smile, and walk away.
And just thinking about it makes me want to vomit.
Remind me again why I said I wanted this?