OK. I'm OVER it, Already
My kids are in pre-school. Ok, daycare. I can say it. Day. Care. See. I said it. So there. What's the big deal?
They've been going for nearly a month now. They started on May 1st. And they're fine. Thriving even. Elias can't kick his dad out the door soon enough now. Jonathan barely gets a goodbye.
And Alena Mae busies herself taking care of the "babies" in her class. She brings them toys and books. She plays, independently or with her little toddler friends. She feeds herself. She sits in a big girl chair at a big girl table drinking milk from a big girl cup and eating her big girl lunch. She takes her blanket and her rainbow teddy and naps for two hours on a cot on the floor, for the love of God. She takes a nap. This is the child who doesn't sleep, in case you've forgotten. On Friday there was not even a single tear at drop-off. None. Just a big fat virtual "See ya, Dad" and she was off and running.
Lots of kids way younger than mine have been going to pre-school or daycare or whatever you choose to call it since they were three months old or younger. And they're fine. They're better than fine. They're fabulous, intelligent, very well-adjusted, socially thriving little people.
Did the beginning of professional, organized childcare for my kids who are 1 and nearly 3 years old, who are only going part-time, only three days a week, who are hungry for time with their peers, who are benefiting immensely from spending time with other well-educated adults and other little peers who from what I have gathered seem to have caring, interested parents; did it really warrant a near three-week hiatus from any creative outlet?
Did it warrant the inner turmoil and emotion? Did it really warrant the tears and paranoia? Did it warrant the two hour, tear-filled lunch with my girlfriend? Did it warrant the very bad and very overpriced glass of wine at only 11:45 a.m. at said lunch hour(s)?
Well, yes. Apparently it did. But it's over now. And I'm all better. Mostly.
At the least, I'm back...
They've been going for nearly a month now. They started on May 1st. And they're fine. Thriving even. Elias can't kick his dad out the door soon enough now. Jonathan barely gets a goodbye.
And Alena Mae busies herself taking care of the "babies" in her class. She brings them toys and books. She plays, independently or with her little toddler friends. She feeds herself. She sits in a big girl chair at a big girl table drinking milk from a big girl cup and eating her big girl lunch. She takes her blanket and her rainbow teddy and naps for two hours on a cot on the floor, for the love of God. She takes a nap. This is the child who doesn't sleep, in case you've forgotten. On Friday there was not even a single tear at drop-off. None. Just a big fat virtual "See ya, Dad" and she was off and running.
Lots of kids way younger than mine have been going to pre-school or daycare or whatever you choose to call it since they were three months old or younger. And they're fine. They're better than fine. They're fabulous, intelligent, very well-adjusted, socially thriving little people.
Did the beginning of professional, organized childcare for my kids who are 1 and nearly 3 years old, who are only going part-time, only three days a week, who are hungry for time with their peers, who are benefiting immensely from spending time with other well-educated adults and other little peers who from what I have gathered seem to have caring, interested parents; did it really warrant a near three-week hiatus from any creative outlet?
Did it warrant the inner turmoil and emotion? Did it really warrant the tears and paranoia? Did it warrant the two hour, tear-filled lunch with my girlfriend? Did it warrant the very bad and very overpriced glass of wine at only 11:45 a.m. at said lunch hour(s)?
Well, yes. Apparently it did. But it's over now. And I'm all better. Mostly.
At the least, I'm back...
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