Mama Meltdown. Party of one.

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I had a meltdown this afternoon. It’s true.

(That I would have a slightly irrational meltdown should come as a shock to absolutely no one.)

You see, I am hormonal. This PCOS bullshish is getting the best of me. As such? I am tired. And tear-y. Often.

Like today.

Before I tell this story, let me say that I lovelovelovelovelove from the bottom of my soul love Joshua’s daycare and the women (and man) who work there.

Love.

I could not go to work every day without them. They love my child like I love my child. And that’s just not something that’s easily found when it comes to daycares. When I was in the worst of PPD and felt unable to breathe when I thought of being separated from Joshua, the fact that he was with them gave me peace like you would not understand unless you’ve been there.

Got that? Love them.

His teacher is awesome. She’s so awesome, in fact, that she makes sure we always have gifts for the holidays. A picture or a bookmark or a frame. Something. And a lot of times she spends her own money to do these things.

On Monday, she asked for one of Joshua’s outgrown shoes. I thought “Oh, neat! But she’s going to have trouble tracing this shoe. The bottom is kind of weird. And it’s not really shaped like a shoe.” (The shoe is…er…was an Umi Puggle if you were curious.)

But I was FLYING out the door on Tuesday morning, so I didn’t give it much thought. I grabbed the shoe, threw everything into the car and out the door I went.

I handed it over when I dropped him off on and she said thanks and I went about my days.

And then I picked him up today.

When I was looking for his jacket, I saw it. On the shelf above the highchairs. Out of the reach of the children.

His shoe.

His shoe which is now gold instead of red and blue.

Gold.

As in, a mock-bronzed baby shoe.

As in, HIS FIRST SHOE IS GOLD.

I kept trying to find his jacket, but my eyes kept wandering up to those shoes on that shelf. His shoe. In the middle of the other shoes. And I couldn’t concentrate. I felt the tears welling up in my throat and I know his afternoon teacher thinks I’m a whackadoo because I couldn’t stop staring at that shoe.

I am heartbroken over this. Absolutely, completely heartbroken. And I have cried no less than three times while I have written this.

The practical side of me looked forward to the thought of maybe having another boy one day and he’d get to wear those shoes.

But the mother in me is heartbroken at this treasure of my son’s early life which has been…which is…not.

One shoe out of every pair of shoes my child wore in his first year of life have been ruined.

But these shoes? These shoes were different. When he outgrew them, I made sure to put them up, out of the dog’s reach. I made sure she couldn’t get to them. I wasn’t careless with them.

I remember him wearing these shoes before he learned to walk. And then he started to toddle around in these shoes.

These shoes are some of the last reminders of his first year.

The year that I can’t get back. Will never get back.

The year that was stolen from me by PPD.

They are one of my few concrete memories of the last of his baby days. The days which were some of my worst.

I loved those shoes.

His first shoes.

And now?

There is only one shoe.

I talked with the daycare owner and she feels terrible. She offered to buy a new pair of shoes, but a new pair of shoes wouldn’t be THOSE shoes.

There is no replacing these shoes.

There is no going back.

His little life is going so fast and I am losing it, piece by piece.