Dear Reader
Three weeks ago I crossed the finish line of the London Marathon. It was a fulfilling end to a goal I had set for myself — to train and run my first marathon as a mom, 13 months postpartum — and I felt oh-so proud for making it through, and in good time, too.
The marathon itself may be an Instagram memory now, but I feel like it was preparing me for something else. Over the past couple of weeks I’ve found myself facing another endurance event, one that also requires mental fortitude and physical strength: sending one’s baby off to daycare.
I had read all the memes about how you fork over large sums of cash to daycare and in exchange they give you the latest range of viruses. I knew it would be a little tough to send her into the care of someone else after all this time of tending to her. But I didn’t expect the kind of separation anxiety and anguish over her health that came over me.
On the first day, a pit of sadness sat in my stomach as we dropped her off. Despite knowing how good it would be for her overall development to be there, I was feeling so many loud emotions about it all. She seemed fine; me, on the other hand…
Being that our baby’s daycare is right next to a well-loved bakery, I sought solace in one of their famous cardamom buns, as I tried to hide the tears in my eyes. I got one on the second day, too, and thought this is how I would get through the week: one drop-off, one cardamom bun, at a time.
But within the short window of being there, she had already picked up something. Two things, actually. A few days later when we took her to the doctor, we got the one-two punch diagnosis of bronchiolitis and an ear infection. I felt so much distress about it, even as I tried to stay calm for her sake. Preparing for daycare, I had expected a runny nose, not a heavily congested one that required us to help clear it, in spite of the agony it caused her to do so. I have never felt so helpless as I did while watching her little body struggle to regain herself after a coughing spell that felt like it was trying to expel every bit of content from her lungs but couldn’t.
She didn’t sleep. We didn’t sleep. I needed every bit of physical strength to just get through the day. (Grateful for an equally committed partner who helps share the load!) And I needed the strength of mind to remind myself, ‘You will get through this. She will be okay.’ I leaned on friends who became de facto cheerleaders with their tidbits of advice from the other side of the finish line. Although — I soon came to learn — there are multiple finish lines. Getting through one illness means you qualify for the next one. One finish line begets another.
But when my emotions got the better of me, I willed myself to remember that London Marathon finish line. The tenacity I knew I had in me; the ability to be stronger than my weakest thought. After all, what good is running a marathon if you aren’t able to use the experience in your everyday life? What use is it putting yourself through the training and then the doing, if not to simulate what it takes to get through a rough patch IRL?
And so it’s been: One moment at a time, remembering to breathe, and stay focussed on the goal at hand, which is, of course, making a tiny immune system stronger and healthier. And becoming a mother who is able to model a healthy and secure attachment style for her child. Or at least, trying to. One cardamom bun at a time.
In other news, the Cannes Film Festival is underway. Both Michael Douglas and Souleymane Cissé are getting honorary awards this year. And while I’m not there this time, I thought I’d run it back with an episode of The Rundown that I made in 2017, at the 70th edition of the fest (with special cameos from Tilda Swinton and Will Smith, and my pal Lorna Mann).
If you’re in New York this weekend, be sure to take a look at what’s on offer at the New York African Film Festival, and I’ll see you at the St James Place Biggie / Hip-Hop’s 50th Anniversary block party!
Thank you, as ever, for reading.
Stay well
Your neighbour,
Nadia