Two nights ago, I had insomnia for the first time since I was nine months pregnant and was kept awake by pregnancy-induced heartburn. And yes, two days ago was the girls’ first day at daycare. I’ve been so chronically sleep-deprived since the birth of the girls that I usually fall asleep within five minutes of hitting the pillow, but two nights ago, I just lay there thinking about the girls and what they did at school. Don’t get me wrong, so far, daycare has been great. The girls seem to like it, the teachers are nice, and Bernard especially likes the little report that we get at the end of the day which documents to the minute every diaper change, every bottle, and every nap. It even has a comment area on the bottom which says “Today I . . .� Yesterday, Miranda’s comment box read, “Today I played with Kendall on the floor. How sweet.� Hmm, who is Kendall? And is Kendall a boy or a girl?
I think I’m just anxious because daycare represents the girls’ first time in the big scary world without me. Last night, I just wanted to go into their room, pick them up, and cuddle with them, but they were already tucked in for the night, so I didn’t. Apparently, it doesn’t get any better. My mom tells me that she lies awake at night all the time worrying about me and my siblings. And I’m thirty-two years old. Sigh.