One of the most frequently asked questions to new moms who return to work is “So what did you do with the little one?”. If you say he’s at crèche, that’s usually followed by “So was it difficult dropping him off on his first day?” My honest answer: “Not really” I knew he was in good hands, and I was going to pick him up in a few hours, and I thought that he might benefit from someone a little more creative and entertaining than his mom for a bit.

What was difficult was at the end of the week, when he came down with his first fever, and then the next week, when he was full-blown sick with a cold: sore throat, phlegm in his throat & lungs, coughing. That’s what was difficult to handle. Then I did feel like an awful mother, subjecting my baby boy to that because I was selfish enough to go back to work.

He has recovered now, and without the use of antibiotics, thankfully, but not before he infected me, my mom and his dad. When I mention this to anyone else with small children in crèche or nursery school, they all smile knowingly and say “Ah, crèche syndrome”. My head knew it would happen, but my heart didn’t realize how awful I would feel when I couldn’t make my little boy better right away. That and knowing that I subjected him to the germs in the first place … Well, it was a rough week.

Now the poor boy is subjected to so many temperature checks that I swear his bum cheeks squeeze together when he sees the thermometer coming. Yes I know I could take an armpit temp, or get a fancy ear or forehead or dummy-shaped thermometer, but my reference book says bum temp’s are the most accurate, and if I’m not going to be a stay at home mom I must at least be accurate. I take his temp when I know its fine, and when I know it’s not. I obsess about it if I put him to bed without a temp check, and then do one at his midnight feed when I’m supposed to be doing my best not to wake him up completely. *sigh* At least he’s healthy again, for now.

Anyway, for June, and any other readers who are into photos of gorgeous baby boys, here he is. Click to enlarge.

Shew! What a busy month! Or has it been longer than that since I last posted? Maybe it has … So I’m back at work. I have also learnt that my work has added my blog to the list of blocked websites. It’s all you work colleagues reading the posts I haven’t been posting recently, I just know it. Love you guys

Since I last shared my life with you I have lost some wisdom, quite literally. And I felt so brave about it. I dropped Aidan off at his first day of crèche and dutifully took myself off to the dentist to punish myself for being a terrible mom who leaves her 4.5 month old baby at crèche so she can selfishly return to work. I started him at creche a week before my return to work, because I had important stuff to do like go to the dentist. And also to get us into the routine.

The dentist confirmed my suspicions. My wisdom teeth, which had been sitting comfortably in my jaw, had chosen the rip old age of 29 to make an appearance. The problem was that they were sitting so skew that they wouldn’t be able to do this on their own and hence would require the services of a maxillofacial surgeon. My dentist promptly scheduled me an appointment with one for the following afternoon, and off I went.

Dr Surgeon confirmed that my teeth were indeed very skew with one lying almost totally horizontal, but that they could be removed under local anesthetic. Here’s where my bravery came in. Instead of allowing myself time to ponder over the decision, I said “all right, lets do it now”. And right there and then he shoved some needles into my gums and grabbed some pliers and out they came.

Well, that’s the short of it. The experience was a little more traumatic. When I close my eyes I can still relive the feeling of the scalpel cutting against my teeth, and the ripping feeling as Dr Surgeon told me to ‘return pressure’ as he was applying all his strength with one foot against the chair to remove my most stubborn right not-so-wise-skew-growing tooth. And the feeling of relief mixed with ewe-gross as it starts to break free. Followed by the not painful but still disturbing feeling of someone stitching your gum pieces back together.

But hey, I did it. This from the chick that was too squeamish to try a natural birth

Aidan loved his first week of crèche by the way, and his care-takers loved him.  Apparently he was a happy smiley baby for them all week long. Not so much the following Monday when he developed a fever, but that’s another story for another day.