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?)