She giggles when I kiss the tip of her nose, and I swear every emotion I have ever refused to feel tries to climb up my throat at once, and I push myself to get dressed.
Black tailored pants. Cream blouse. Soft blazer that feels like armor but still lets me breathe. Neutral makeup. Hair pulled back loosely, nothing too severe. I want to look professional, but not like I am trying too hard to prove I belong, even though thatis precisely how I would feel if I weren’t feeling like every mother who takes her child to drop her off for the first time.
When we head downstairs, I see the island is spotless except for a folded note propped against a bowl of fruit and a to-go coffee cup still steaming, probably timed based on how long she knew it would take me to get Savannah fed and dressed.
I pick up the note and read.
Claudia,
Had to leave early for my meeting, but I didn’t want you to head into your first day of a career alone. You busted your ass to get here and are going to kill it today. Savannah is going to charm everyone who looks her way. No doubt being the secret favorite. I left coffee and backup snacks.
Text me when you are done. Proud of you always.
Love, N
I press my lips together to keep the sudden sting in my eyes from becoming tears.
Safe. Supported. Seen.It’s a lot. New York City has been…a lot.
I manage to pull it together right before the app alerts me that my ride is here, I take Savannah’s bag, and head out.
The facility is buzzingwith quiet morning energy that would typically light me up, and I know once the firsts are all experienced, they will again, but everything feelsheavy. Staff checking in. Screens displaying upcoming team events lit up, as if the building were alive.
I carry Savannah in my arms, her weight pressed against me in a way that was meant to give comfort, but it’s giving it back tenfold.
The childcare door opens with a soft click. Warm light. Soft rugs. Breathable calm. Babies babbling.
Marlene welcomes us with a warm smile. “Good morning, Savannah.” She looks at me now, “How is Mom?”
“Good morning,” I say, trying to sound like a mother who is fine. Not on the verge of unraveling.
“Can I take a photo of you two? It’s the big first day.” Marlene asks, and I pull my phone from my coat and hand it to her.
Once that’s done, her caregiver, Jo, reaches out and gently says. “Whenever you are ready.”
I kiss my daughter’s cheeks. Her forehead. Her tiny hand. I whisper it again before I can stop myself. “See you soon, little one.”
She smiles.Actually smiles.And instead of soothing me, it knocks the air out of me.
I hand her over. Her weight leaves my arms. My heart drops straight to the floor.
The caregiver sways with her, soft and sure. “We will call if she needs anything.” She hands me the small video monitor. “Check in whenever you want.”
I nod, because words feel like they might crack me open. Then I walk out before my face betrays everything.
I barely makeit into the bathroom before the tears spill over. Hot. Fast. Immediate. I lock the door, brace my palms on the sink, and let the sobs come. Not the quiet ones you can swallow. The kind that drag themselves out of your chest, whether you give permission or not.
I try to breathe. I try to steady myself. But my body has other plans.
This is the part no one warns you about. The part where your baby is safe and cared for, and you are the one falling apart.
My phone buzzes.
Deacon:
How are my girls doing?
My breath stutters. My girls.
