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The hunt for daycares has begun. I’m too paranoid to leave Nibbles with a nanny, and besides, “socialization” is supposed to be the motivation. I think. I know, one year olds don’t socialize in the typical sense – it’s all parallel playing. But I feel terrible when I see Nibbles staring out into the rains as I try to squeeze some lines of code and hastily reply to e-mails. I feel like an ass when I mumble excuses and hit mute when an excited Nibbles chimes in on a conference call. Moreover, I feel like I’m a bad homemaker that’s left a house in shambles and gone from making rotis from scratch to ordering greasy takeout. I’m a bad wife that can’t remember the last time she’s had a non-nagging coversation related to obsessive household rules with Big Byte. As for my sympathy job? It still exists, last time I checked.

I’m a zombie, drifting from one daycare to the next, tucking in all the application forms and glossing over the familiar list of activities and rules. “…and then it’s circle time, followed by nap-time. we also record a diaper change time and wash our hands after…”

What am I trying to say? I’ve failed as a mother, wife, homemaker and employee, so I’d like to send my baby away to some underpaid caregivers so that he gets the level of stimulation and action that he deserves? Caregiver. That was supposed to be me.

Maybe I’ll convince myself for one more night that what Nibbles wants most, and needs most, is to hang out at home, his home, and derive immense pleasure watching me freak out as he discovers new forbidden zones. And of course, to rush into my lap every time he needs a quick drink or needs to fall asleep with a calm smile across his face. Ah yes, weaning and sleep-training. No time for that can of worms tonight.

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