Dropping your baby off at daycare flies in the face of all that is right in nature. Since the beginning of time, mothers protected their young; kept them safe from harm. Animals, are famously protective of their offspring. I'm no zoologist, but I hardly think mama bear drops her cubs off for the day at a den a few miles away so she can go hunting. However, I am part of modern-day life, a statistic of the middle class where both parents work and the child heads off to be looked after by some qualified person who is CPR certified and keeps meticulous data on bowel movements. Last Tuesday Zoe started going to the home of a very nice woman named Cassie. Cassie has a son the same age as Zoe and watches two other children also the same age. I feel comfortable in our decision to place her in this home and am confident in the fact that she will thrive there. Does it sound like I am running for office on the daycare platform? Here's what really happened:
The night before I was so worried and anxious about this whole thing I could barely eat. My thoughts were consumed with what lunch I could pack that would best convey my love for her. I settled on a peanut butter sandwich and some melon. I wrote her name on everything with a Sharpie even though there are only three other children there and I would have exceedingly more to worry about than losing stuff if this woman couldn't keep track of four sippies. I left a note to remind myself to bring her favorite blankie. I picked out a perfect outfit; one that said, I would like to meet new friends but would also be comfortable enough play in. Then I cried and headed off to bed. The next morning I set my sites on being enthusiastic lest Zoe get some bad vibes about the situation. I sounded like a bad actress from some B movie when I bounded in her room saying "Are you excited about going to Miss Cassie's and meeting your new friends?!?!" Zoe gave me some weird look like I had started the morning with a few Bloody Marys but she seemed OK so far. After breakfast we gathered her things and drove off, my stomach in knots and tears welling up. I kept explaining to her how lucky she was and what a good time she was going to have. Her only response was "nah." I took that as "what kind of mother would leave her baby with a stranger." But I pressed on.
We got there and got settled in. I gave Cassie a quick overview of her lunch and how I had packed Goldfish for a snack. I think my overview was probably more like a dissertation, my though was maybe if I talked long enough I wouldn't have to leave. But then it was time. I crouched down, told Zoe I couldn't love her more and started to walk out, and then she did it; she started crying. I tried to keep that same B movie persona going but it was no use, if I didn't walk out then I was going to lose it in front of her ruining my tale of good times, so I left. And I cried on and off for the next few hours as I envisioned her in the depths of despair wondering where her mother was and why had she left her.
For anyone who has ever gone through this, you probably know how this story ends. I called Cassie at 11am ready for her to tell me that I needed to come back, that Zoe was inconsolable, but that is not what she said. No, apparently Zoe cried for about three minutes and then got right to playing. At the time of my call, she was taking a nap.
This is how things have gone for the last two weeks sans my crying. Zoe cries just enough to make me feel guilty and then starts playing. For a few days she would cry when we came to get her. I think she does that for her own amusement. I no longer need notes to remind me what to bring and Cassie pretty much has her lunch down pat. I'll get the Valium ready for kindergarten.
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