Mama moments: Daycare debut

Miss Lucy (that's what I've been calling my dainty and demanding toddler these days) starts her first full day of daycare today after two years of being at home or with one of two sets of retired grandparents, who live 30 minutes away. (Yes, we're spoiled.) It's saved us lots of heartache and tons of cash, and I'm just so grateful that everyone was willing to help out.

Miss Lucy has learned so much from spending time with them, but we felt it was time to socialize her properly and take some of the strain off our aging parents and tough-to-balance schedules. Needless to say, I am anxious about it. My mind is wondering, "Will she eat lunch?" (She barely eats at home.) "Will she nap with all those other kids there?" And, "How is this going to affect ME?"

I shouldn't be -- Lucy has been to the centre several times over the past two years to pick up or drop off her brother, so it's not completely foreign. We had a bit of a dry run last week, putting her in the nursery program for 2.5 hours a day. I was worried she would cry when we tried to leave her. I remember leaving Nate in someone else's care for the first time and the amount of tears we both shed. (It took him a whole year before he stopped crying when I left each morning.)

So we hyped it up, calling it school (well, it's in a school), putting on her Little Life Ladybug backpack, and generally making a big deal. Of course the second she got there, she went into party mode. ("Holla!") I tried to hug her goodbye, but she pushed me away to dance in concentric circles.

"I'm more worried about you guys than I am about her," the teacher said. Me too. (What will I do on Kindergarten Day One next week?)

Happy Birthday Miss Lucy!

Mystery girl, you confound. You delight. You inspire belly laughs and midnight giggles at the remembrance of the clever thing you did earlier that day.

You lay in the sand like it's gold. Eating it. Inhaling it. There is no body of water (you currently call it wala) that you cross that doesn't beckon your feet for a dip. I can see the joy rise up from your toes through your spine and shoot out your finger tips as you hurtle yourself forward, fearless, exuberant, knowing the thrill awaits.

It frightens me, but I celebrate it too. You are bold, strong and as a good friend made me realize tonight, I admire these traits in you. Wish I was like you a bit more.

"Peels of laughter" was a term invented for you. You are loud, like your mom, especially when happy or when no one is paying attention to you. You command it, refuse to yield to my protests of "after the dishes" or "just one minute," taking my hand forcefully and dragging me to your destination of choice. "LOOK Mam!" "WATCH Mam!" "MAM!"

Your spurts of frenetic energy are tempered with quiet moments of pure concentration. "Halp!" you cry when you get stuck, but I can tell the need to ask for my assistance wears on your pride. You must see everything, do everything, know everything -- yet you keep your own secrets guarded.

You love, immensely, but on your own terms. Like a cat, you dole out affection when YOU feel like it. Your brother will be sullied for life, drawn to women who tease him mercilessly and push him away when he seeks an innocent hug or kiss. He wants to protect you in his feeble, giant-brained way, but you will have none of it. If he's lucky, you might be the one defending him one day.

Some days I think that you are smarter than all of us. That you have this love thing figured out. Like it can never hurt you, because you don't always need it. Yet another trait of yours I wish I had.


You're insistent, willful, demanding. But I dare anyone who loves you to be able to turn you down. You just won't have it.

You defy me, knowingly. You look into my hopeful eyes with the devil's grin and I know in an instant that you will break my heart.

The world is your oyster and by God you will develop the perfect shucker by the time you're old enough to slurp the salty sea flesh of life, tossing the shells behind you. Giving a coy smile when the person behind you steps on your leftovers. They can never stay mad at you for long girl.


Of course I knew that when I made you. Knew it the second you were born. You would challenge me. Test me. Make me wonder why I chose this path. Make me wonder who I will be after parenting you and will there ever be an end?

I pray to a god-I-no-longer-know-how-to-refer-to that there won't be.

PS: I am reading your birth story and crying, remembering all of it. If you google your way to this in the future, you may think it's gross, but I could read it a thousand times over. You are my gift, my treasure. I love you Lucy and everything you've brought me in these past two years. The good and the bad and all that's to come. Happy Birthday.