Hunger Strike!

After almost four months of 24 hour snuggling, I have finally returned to "the real world", aka my full time job. It had to happen sooner or later, and I was lucky enough to have a fantastic holday season with my family, so I will certainly count my blessings there.

Monday morning was a blur of insanity as the whole family struggled to get out the door at 7:15. Unable to sleep all night, I came downstairs to find that my cat had registered his disapproval of our recent travel schedule all over my son's winter coat. Gross, and a lesson in why you should listen to your mother and hang up your coat. Now we had an emergency load of laundry to deal with on top of everything else. Our 7:15 departure time quickly turned into a 7:30 departure time, ensuring I would be late on my first day back. Perfect.

A three year old has an uncanny way of sensing when his parents are teetering on the verge of complete nervous collapse. In the midst of the rushing madness, periodic wails of "No! I want to do it myself!" filled the air. Coat (freshly washed) on, boots on, hat and gloves on, all with the excruciating sloooowwwwnnnesss of a pre-schooler. Finally ready to go, he collapsed into a puddle of tears as his father lifted him into his car seat rather than letting him climb in himself. Beside him, the baby was strapped peacefully into her own seat, with no idea what was in store for her.

The sweet lady in the infant room at the day care center surely thought I was a lunatic, arriving with an enormous bag of baby supplies, a 2 page list of likes and dislikes, and rambling on a mile a minute about the baby and her daily schedule. The baby grinned sweetly up at me from an unfamiliar bouncy chair as I tried to walk away without tears, a tough thing to do.

Work is work, and even though I made it in late (a huge pet peeve of mine), it was as though I'd never gone. The only difference from my normal workday was the presence of my cell phone on my desk, just begging me to call and check on the baby. After my insane mom routine, I was hesitant to call too early. Instead, I e-mailed my husband and made him call. The news: good nap, happy baby, but she wouldn't eat. Hmmm. We decided to give her a bit more time, and arranged for my husband to stop in and check her around noon.

I waited on pins and needles for his call. When I got it, my heart sank. "I have her, and we're going home. She just won't eat." I begged him to bring her to me at work, not wanting to think about how hungry she would be if she didn't nurse. Poor baby! Before they reached my office, he got her to drink a bottle, so they went home instead.

Today we started the whole routine again (sans cat poop, thank God!). Out the door, day care, work. Finally, the phone call telling us she just won't eat, again. This time, we decided my husband would try to feed her at school, giving her enough sustenance to last until normal pickup time. No good, She was happy and laughing, but completely without interest in the bottle. Home she went with Dad, where she ate just fine.

Right now, my little Ghandi is sitting on my lap, cooing away happily. Will she ever eat at day care? We just don't know. I am holding out hope that she will, but she is a stubborn little thing. She really is like Ghandi, with a peaceful smile and an iron will.

Tomorrow is another day.