I realized this on Friday.
I had left work and was on my way home. My new way home. The way that will take me past Ryan’s daycare where, as of this morning (!), he is happily (?) playing inside, waiting for me to pick him up.
I was dropping off forms. I was telling the receptionist who is allowed to pick my kid up in an emergency. I was checking their formula to make sure it was iron-fortified. I was asking whether I needed to pack bibs for him and whether I could store the car seat in their back room during the day.
I signed some papers. I set up an automatic withdrawal on my checking account. I smiled at the moms and the dads and the kids who trickled out the door. I slung my work bag over my shoulder, popped my sunglasses onto my nose and breezed out the sliding glass door. I imagined what it will feel like to pick Ryan up this afternoon.
And it hit me. I’ll be picking my kid up from daycare. I’m such a grown up.
This is an interesting thought to have considering the following:
I graduated from college nearly 7 years ago. I moved across the country, to a city where I knew no one. I got a job with benefits, including health insurance and a 401k. I bought a condo. I met a cool dude and got hitched. I traveled a bit. I purchased life insurance. I got pregnant. I wrote up a will. I decided who would raise my kid if my husband and I both died. I endured 14 hours of labor and then pushed for two and a half hours, while laying on my left side. I had a baby. I made lists of all important account information and stored it in a lock box, telling my Mom how to access it, cuz you just never know and I have a son to think about now. I researched college savings plans – not for me and that elusive master’s degree I’ve always coveted, but for my kid. I searched online for pictures of my 10-year high school reunion.