Harrison starts daycare this week.
{It’s no mistake that I have an appointment with my psychiatrist the next day. I know my limits.}
I’ve been…apprehensive. It’s hard to put my finger on it. I KNOW he’ll be fine. I know this is an excellent chance for him to spread his wings, become more independent, & learn social skills. In my heart, I know it will be fine. More than fine. So why have I felt like gnawing off my toenails one by one in anxious fits all week? Why have I felt that cement lump in my throat? It’s not like childcare is a new territory for us – we’ve been rocking the working mom gig for over six months. But still…I worried. I worried that he would be afraid. That he would not get along with the other children. That he’d feel ignored, abandoned, or even resentful. After months of one-on-one nanny care with my sister, a daycare center is a HUGE move for him. In a desperate move to help calm my worry, I did what every obnoxious, over-bearing parent would do – I took him to daycare for an hour today. You know, to “introduce” him to the teachers, room, & see how he’d do with the other babies.
I KNOW, I HAVE BECOME THAT DOUCHEBAG PARENT.
But at least I still refuse to have stick figures on the back of my car.
Every other parent simply drops their kid off, like normal people. Me? CAN’T HANG WITH THE NORMAL FOLK. So I came by on my lunch break, nervously chewing on my lip & clasping Harrison to my hip. We walked back to the room with the director & I sat down on the mat with Harrison, preparing for him to cling to my side with uncertainty. Steeling myself for the separation & fear of a new environment. Instead, he stood up, toddled on over to the teacher, & gazed up at her with a big grin. He squealed with delight & made his way over to one of the cribs, reaching through the bars to the sleeping baby within. & seeing two babies sitting on the floor, he dropped to his knees & crawled between them.
I held my breath as he & another 9-month-old wrestled over a toy, waiting for tears to come & the momma bear in me to sheath her ugly claws. But as they struggled briefly, Harrison let go of the toy & moved on without any true trouble. My heart burst with pride – he was smart & social & displaying skills far above his age. All of my worries? Unfounded. & I realized while I sat in a puddle of baby drool on the floor of the center…
I’m the one that is clinging. Not Harrison.
He’s brave & self-assured & assertive & everything he should be. Whether it was the cheers when he fell, a kiss for no reason, an answer to every cry, I must have done something right as he learned to hold his head high & take on the world. He will be fine in daycare.
It’s his momma that has to learn to let go.
On Tuesday morning, I hopped on the scale just to see if any progress had been made. For motivation. (also because I’m a scale addict) Because even if I was down a few ounces, it would keep me going.
