Why I Struggle To Leave My Child In The Church Nursery

Today was the day. We (more specifically, I) had been struggling with the decision of what we needed to do with Tessa during church. For months she sat quietly in our laps, occasionally cooing or chewing on a toy. Sometimes we would have to walk out of service with her, but that wasn't a big deal because there were televisions playing in the lobby where we could still hear the sermon. Now, at ten months old, she is wanting to get down and explore. Sitting still and quiet for an hour is just not something she cares to do anymore, especially when there are other people to wave or squeak at, and aisles to crawl down. She needs to be in a class with children her own age where she can play and move around freely for a while without distracting those who are trying to pay attention to what the pastor is teaching. The most logical option, then, was to start taking her to the nursery. My mind knew it was not a big deal; people put their children in the nursery all the time and the children are just fine.

But I was not fine.

A decision that should have been easy and uncomplicated was weighing heavily on my heart. I felt anxious at the thought of leaving her, and I thought at first it was because I didn't know the nursery workers, or because I knew Tessa would cry. But no matter how many times I told myself it would be okay and I just needed to do it, I couldn't find any peace. Last week during service, Tessa crawled all over the place and made lots of noise and by the time we left church, I knew it was time. So we decided on the way home that today is when we would start taking her to the nursery.

All week long I agonized. I dreaded going to church, and I even mentally looked for some excuse to get out of going while at the same time asking myself why something that should be so simple was so hard for me. We got to church early so that we could fill out the forms and check things out. I felt trembly all over. I kept thinking, "This is wrong. I shouldn't be leaving her." A lady I knew who understood my hesitancy walked us to Tessa's room and assured us everything would be fine. "Everything won't be fine," I thought to myself.

At our previous church, I was in charge of the three year old class and I saw lots of moms who had a hard time leaving their babies. They would linger near the door or even come in the class and play with their children for a while (which always made it ten times harder when they finally did leave). My mind, then, knew it would be best for me to drop her off and go. And though I said I would never do what those moms in my class did, I had already made up my mind today to ask if I could stay for a few minutes and help her get settled. When we got to the room, there was such a rush of activity from other people dropping off their children that she was out of my arms and in the room before I could blink or think to ask. Tessa immediately started screaming and reaching for me, as I knew she would, and we were suddenly walking toward the sanctuary without our baby. As we walked down the hallway, my eyes were tearing up. I felt like my heart had been cut open, but it was more than just sadness over my child being upset. What I felt was both new and strangely familiar at the same time. Grief.

I clutched the sticker we would need to pick up Tessa from her class the entire service. Any time a number would pop up on the screen and signal for a parent to come and get their child, my eyes would immediately look down to see if it was our number. It wasn't. I sat there restlessly in my seat, knowing that my baby was probably unhappy and it stressed me out. Just before service ended, I was longing to go and get her. There was a sense of urgency - a need to have her in my arms again. Why is this so hard for me? I kept asking myself this question, but no amount of rational thinking could change what I was feeling. When service ended, I moved as quickly as I could toward the children's wing of the church. Before we reached her class, I spotted her in the hallway. A dear friend was pushing her around the in the stroller and Tessa was sitting contentedly, chewing on a toy. She did some crying, as we expected, and wasn't crazy about her classroom. But she was okay. When Tessa saw us, she immediately started screaming again. I got her in my arms again as quickly as I could, and she clung to me with all her little might. It broke my heart all over again, and I just wanted to leave and go home as soon as possible. When we were in the car and on the road, the tears came. I cried all the way home. I cried as I put Tessa down for her nap. Then I lay down on the bed and cried some more. And just as I was wondering for the thousandth time what my problem was, it finally hit me.

This is wrong. I shouldn't have to leave her.

I had said these words over and over in my mind when I would think of putting Tessa in the nursery, but this is also word-for-word what I was thinking when I said goodbye to our Addie Jane for the last time right before we left the hospital a year and a half ago. I held that tiny one pound baby in my arms, told her I loved her, and laid her gently on the warming table. The light was off, of course. She was gone, so it wasn't needed anymore. I had kissed her cold little head and moved toward the door, taking one last look before going through it and thinking, "This is wrong. I shouldn't have to leave her."

This is why I struggle to leave my child in the nursery. 

When my arms let go of Tessa this morning, they were remembering the other time I had to let go of my baby. I didn't understand why I was grieving because I wasn't consciously thinking about Addie. But my heart remembered. This time I was walking down the hallway away from my child just for a little while. Last time, I was wheeled in a wheel chair down several hallways away from my child and I wouldn't be picking her up again. The circumstances were completely different but the pain was the same. That's why I struggled with the idea of putting Tessa in the nursery. It's why my heart broke and I wanted to slide to the floor and weep. It's why the thought of doing it again next week makes me sick. Because I had decided that day when we said goodbye to Adelyn that I didn't ever want to leave my child behind again. It doesn't matter that I would be picking up Tessa again right after church. No matter how many times I remind myself that she's fine and that our separation is temporary, I will always remember having to leave Addie. And it will always hurt, though I know the pain will lessen with time. Eventually, dropping her off will become second nature. Tessa will grow to like her class, and someday I'm sure she won't want to leave when we come to get her. But right now it's hard, and we are stepping out in faith and asking God to guide our decisions.

When I talk about how much I dislike leaving Tessa in the nursery or anywhere else, this is why. It's because deep down I'm always reliving that moment when I had to leave Addie behind in that cold hospital room. I frequently forget that while it seems like such a long time ago, it hasn't even been two years yet. The grief is still fresh, and I know it will continue to show up at unexpected times for the rest of my life. Yes, we will keep putting Tessa in her class. We truly believe that it is what she needs right now, and that it's what is best for her long term. She needs the socialization, and she needs to learn to trust that we will come back for her. And we need to be able to sit in service and hear the Word of God without chasing a baby around the church and distracting her with toys to keep her quiet (which never works for long). When she is older, we will bring her back into service with us some of the time. For now, this is what needs to happen. Please pray for us as the Lord leads. Parenting is hard, but it's good. And knowing that Adelyn is safe in the arms of the Lord brings us comfort alongside the grief. I have a feeling my husband will be taking Tessa to her class, at least for a little while!