Transitioning to Daycare

Hubby relayed a story of what happened when he dropped Lucas at daycare. Lucas made a beeline for the stack of chairs. He pulled one down and climbed on top of it. He stood there for a moment, smiling big, and then got off it and dragged the chair back. Hubby was a bit incredulous because he wouldn't have let Lucas do that at home, but he saw that one of the caregivers was watching him closely. He turned and gave her a questioning look. Miss Darnelle laughed, saying, "oh that, that's just Lucas. He does that every day."

When he told me that, I was blown away. Even as parents who try and allow him to be his "true self", we would not have ever let him do that because we are paranoid for his safety. Hearing "that's just Lucas" makes me melt. They know him. And they allow him to be who he is.

I remember filling out the daycare application, and for the question, "what can we do to help him with his transition", I wanted to write "please honour his spirit", and burst into tears. Tears were followed by anxiety, guilt, fear, more guilt, desperate hope that it would all be okay, and even more guilt.

Two months following his first teary dropoff at daycare, he is running in and not even looking back at us. I had heard "two months" before and that weighed like an eternity ahead of us. And yet, when it happened, it seemed like it had been so quick. Now we pick him up from daycare and he doesn't even run to us. He's busy playing, playing, playing.

I remember coming to pick him up one of the first days, and I could hear him crying from the parking lot. I couldn't get to him fast enough, and yet when I did find him, I stopped. He was in the senior toddler room with Miss Sam, and they were alone dancing after he'd gotten upset. On the radio was "we're here for a good time, not a long time, so have a good time, the sun can't shine every day". She was singing to him. I knew he was going to be okay without me 24-7.

The day they called me right before I was about to do a presentation at work. He's got a fever of 38.7 degrees, they said. I dropped everything and jumped in my car, calling them again on my way. Could they give him Tylenol? No. Could they give him cuddles? We already are, they said, not to worry. I found him in Miss Jacquie's arms for the first time and he's back there almost every afternoon.

I learned shortly after putting him in daycare that its the caregivers he needs to bond with, not the other kids. I did everything I could every time I dropped him off to show him and them how much I respected and appreciated them. And I love how much they respect and appreciate who he is.

We get glimpses of what his days are like now. He brings home what he's learned, like when he first signed "more" and "please", when he answered the Old MacDonald refrain with an "EIEIO", when he showed he knew how to go down a slide on his own. He comes home with rocks in his pocket from the playground, with his daily sheet that tells me if he ate like a bear or a dinosaur (never like a bird), and with artwork. Artwork. My one year old boy is doing artwork! We can watch him on the webcam, but we don't much anymore. We know he's having a good time.

The day we first walked into Kinder Kampus, and saw Miss Sara's infectious energy and demonstrated love of each child, it felt right. And now, on the ride home from daycare, we get to hear about it. He tells me, in babbles, between bits of his "nola bar", everything he did today. And I ask him if he had fun with his friends, "Yah" he says, if he had fun with his teachers, "yah", he says, and I know it's true.

Room for more?

Hubby and I take Lucas to the Jungle Gym and find ourselves staring helplessly at each other as our child ignores our attempts to play with him. He bellows a loud "NO" when we offer our hands to help him climb up or down, as he runs giggling with other children, other parents. I shrug to hubby, "he doesn't need us anymore".

We offer him a seat on the couch with us and a pile of books, one of his favourite things to do. But he's busy. Busy with his trains and his trucks. And when he does pull a book off the pile, he opens it himself and starts "reading" it to Honey Bear. We sigh at each other proudly.

We drop him at daycare and he runs off without a look back. It is the answer to our prayers, the ultimate alleviation of working-parent guilt, but there is that moment of surprise still, that we don't matter so much.

These past 18 months spent together, he's changed our lives. He's become our lives, defined our lives, transformed our lives. We gave him life. And its his now, and he seems to need us in it less and less.

You spend all this time and energy learning to become a parent, shifting your life around to make room for him, but now that you've made space, he doesn't require all of it anymore. We have put him on centre stage in our life, and yet we know too true that he is not here to perform for us. It's his book he's writing, not ours, and we may not even get to read all the pages.

So, Hubby throws the ball to me at Jungle Gym, instead of our child. We go back to reading our own novels. And we both swallow our pride when we drop him at daycare without a goodbye.

And we start talking about having another.

Blessed

“This is my prayer for you, there for you, ever true. Each, every day for you, in every thing you do. And when you come to me, and hold me close to you, I bless you and you bless you too.” ~ Celtic Women

What a blessing you are, Little One. How lucky am I to have you. You make every day a wonder. You make every act have purpose. I know you are not my life, and your purpose is not to fulfill mine, but you do it in so many ways.

I know I am blessed right now to be in your life. Blessed to fill it. Blessed to be who you call when you need something. Blessed to be the one you will kiss, the one you will cuddle, the one you will reach up to, the one you will run to.

You make me feel so damn important.

It’s not up to you to do that. And one day, not so long from now, I won’t be so important to you. And it makes now feel even more special.

Today, I put you in the baby swing and you cried, Mama, Mama. I pulled you out and climbed into the bigger swing holding you tight in my arms. You leaned into me as I pumped the swing higher and higher for both of us. Then you craned your neck back to see me, eyes peeking over the brim of your hat to catch my eye with your smile. A moment I will never forget. We were one again.

Friday, both tired from a week of going to work and daycare, we got into the bath together. Stayed in far too long until we were both cold and crinkly. I pulled you onto me as I turned on the faucet to fill up the tub with warm water. You pressed your head down on my chest, and I was transported back to the hours and hours we spent together head to chest just over a year ago. I take a memory shot of that moment and file it in my album of forever.

We are one we are one we are one. I know you like I know my own soul. Are we the same stream of energy flowing from lifetime to lifetime together? And yet, I don’t know you. I don’t know you at all. I am pleased to discover you every day every moment. As you discover yourself and what it is to be you in this world this time around. Will you remember me when all this is past? I will remember you. The essence of you is me too.

You take my hand and bring me to the couch. Don’t need my help climbing up there, as you wriggle up into the middle seat. Then you start talking, talking and talking in this stream of babbling. I respond, in English, in babbling, in nods and in silent listening. It’s important what you are saying and it’s important you are sharing it with me. And I wish to death that I knew what you were saying. And then I know. I hear it not in words but in feeling. Life is good, Mama. I’m having a good time figuring out all of this. Tell me more, I say. And then you climb over to me, smoosh your face in my leg.

Want to share this piece with everyone in the world. Want to tell no one. Want everyone to know our love. Want to hoarde it to me. Mostly, I just want to keep sharing with you. Your discoveries. Your love of life and stuffed animals and trucks.

I am so honoured to be your Mom, Lucas. Thank you for picking me. Thank you for blessing me. I will be here as long as you need me.

“When you no longer hear my song, my blessing goes with you.” ~ Celtic Woman