Better Than a Train Station Door . . .

Four years ago, when Rocky and I were first considering the move to Philly, we made a brief trip out there to check out the surroundings and assess the general liveability of the area. As part of that trip, we rode the train from the suburb of Bryn Mawr into downtown Philadelphia. While waiting on the train platform in Philly to head back into Bryn Mawr, we noticed a little kid (maybe 3 or 4 years old) vigorously licking--yes, licking--the glass door leading from the station onto the platform. Oh gross. Oh gross. The germ-o-phobe (sp?) and anal-retentive Virgo in me was horrified. Nothing, nothing could possibly be more germ-infested than a door for public transportation in one of America's biggest cities.

Leap ahead in time to now. Rocky and I now have The Squidd (a bub as they call babies here in NZ). Since his birth, my knee-jerk reaction as said germ-o-phobe is to keep The Squidd protected from all germs and yuckies out there. That said, I also realize the futility of this and also the potential harm. Of course I don't want him to be sick, but I also know that being sick will help him to build a strong immune system that is capable of fending off the innumerable nasties he encounters every day. The result: I try to let go a little. I pretend I'm the cool, laid-back mom that takes everything in stride. And every day I make a conscious choice to let The Squidd just do what babies do. Crawl. Lick. Chew on everything he can lay his hands on.

I'll admit, this has been an especially hard thing for me over the last 6 weeks. Since leaving Philly, we've been through airports in 8 cities and 2 continents. The Squidd has touched seats, tray tables, windows, and changing tables in airplanes and airports across the country. He's crawled on airport floors and inched along rows of seats in boarding areas. He's sucked on toys that have fallen on the floor of public places. Did I hate it? Of course. But was The Squidd happier and a better traveler because of the freedom he had? Of course. And the best part of it is he came through it all beautifully. Not a sniffle or a cough or anything. Yes!

But tomorrow I face the ultimate test of the control-freak, germ phobic mom: daycare. The Temple of Doom. Tomorrow is The Squidd's first day of daycare ever. I know he'll love it. I know he'll make friends and thrive in his new learning environment. And I know with a deep and abiding certainty that he and I and Rocky will never be sicker than we will be these next few years thanks to the petri dishes he'll call his classmates.

So when Rocky and I drop The Squidd off tomorrow morning, I'll take a couple deep breaths, give him a kiss, and repeat this mantra in my head: "Better than a train station door."