Separation anxiety is a real thing. I always knew it existed, but this week, it introduced itself to me in a way I was not prepared for when my one-year-old started crèche for the very first time.

Don’t get me wrong, I’ve done this before. I felt it when boeta went to crèche too. But that was different. He was four years old. He could talk. He understood what was happening … sort of.

He was also at a crèche where I knew the principal personally because we went to the same school, and there were cameras you could log into if the missing urge kicked in. If I felt uneasy, I could peek in and reassure myself that my child was fine.

This time, though, it was different. This time, it was my baby.

The night before his first day, I didn’t sleep. Not a wink. I would doze off, then wake up almost every hour. My mind ran wild with thoughts I couldn’t switch off. Was he too small? Was I rushing this? Would he understand why I was leaving him?

That morning, it felt like he knew something was up. He wasn’t his usual jolly, smiley self. He was cranky. Crying. Clingy. When we got into the car, he didn’t smile at me with those “let’s start the day” eyes. Instead, he sat quietly and then he reached out and held my hand while I was driving. Something he never does. My heart cracked.

This wasn’t like dropping him off at his ma’s house or those random check-ins when the missing urge hit. This was different. This was a full-day thing. Drop him. Leave him. Fetch him after work.

At the crèche, he clung to me like his life depended on it. And then the tears came his and mine. Talk about a mommy’s heart dropping straight to the floor. In that moment, I genuinely felt like I had made the worst decision of my life. Maybe I should take him back home to grandma? Maybe this was too soon?

I don’t even know if I said it out loud, but I felt it deeply.

The teacher gently took him from me and politely asked me to leave, explaining that it only makes it harder if we cling on longer. She was right but that didn’t make it easier.

That drive home was the worst.

I cried. I sobbed. I could hear his cry in my head, over and over. I probably drove past the crèche three times just to make sure no one came running outside looking for me because then I would have taken him back without a second thought. “He’s too small,” I told myself. Eish. Psycho mom alert.

Throughout the day, I kept watching videos of him. And every time I did, I cried even more.

Then my cousin messaged me: “Hey cuz, how you doing?”

“Not okay,” I replied.

She responded, “But your baby is okay. You need to trust God. You prayed about getting him into a place, and when you went to check it out, you were content. Now you need to show God that you trust Him.”

A few seconds later, my phone buzzed again. It was the crèche principal.

“He is doing good. Actually, he isn’t even crying.”

Now if that isn’t God, then I don’t know what is.

That was the moment I exhaled. The moment I realised that while separation anxiety is real for babies and mommies it doesn’t mean we’re failing. It means we love deeply and when I went to fetch him my baby smiled, a sign that he is okay. 

tracy-lynn.ruiters@inl.co.za

Weekend Argus 

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