The Boy started at a new daycare today. Between concerns about the quality of the daycare diminishing as he has aged; ultimately knowing we needed something near his future school; and the commute that was slowly killing me one traffic jam at a time we decided to change. We have been in an in-home setting since he was 6 months old and have built this little community of kids and parents that were wonderful. It was hard to make the decision but we knew for longevity it was necessary.
So the new place is a big facility servicing children from 2 weeks (!) to 12 years and is run by a little old grandma who has a bit of a mustache. I’m sure this isn’t painting a very nice description but its accurate. She is very warm and every room she goes into the kids run to her for hugs. Normally, in an in-home setting the idea of the grandmotherly figure doesn’t appeal to me because I want structure and education and learning. In a big facility where it’s geared more like school I love the grandmotherly figure who is still warm, loving and nurturing for these babies. My baby!
So I dropped him off this morning, including his naptime sheet, naptime blanket, diapers, wipes, change of clothes and his happy little butt. We set up my finger print to be able to drop off and pick up and we went into the room. He immediately started playing with the toys and the other kids gravitated to us. He seemed fine and didn’t need me so I hugged and kissed him good bye and stood out in the hall way watching him. He looked a little lost, a little pensive and a little unsure, but not scared or frightened or ready to cry. I was though. I was a mess. I watched my baby. My baby. My well-adjusted little boy navigating the treacherous social waters of daycare and two year olds. (A bit dramatic I admit, but kids are ruthless)
I wished he would cry when I left just so I could soothe him and let him know he would be ok. That we would both be ok. But instead I forced myself to walk away and get in my car and call Juanito. Crying.
I will worry all day long. Did he ever cry? Has he made a friend or two? Is he adapting well to the new rules and new surroundings. Is nap time the same and will he be able to sleep? Will he like it enough to want to return tomorrow? This growing up shit is hard on everyone, but it seems hardest on me!