Panic! At the Daycare

Panic! At the Daycare

Kiddo started daycare for the first time today. After a bit of careful consideration of my “upcoming new for real job start day” (yep, making the transition from sitting down glaring at code and Photoshop for a bit).

I soon realized that indeed, having her frozen in some sort of stasis isn’t a workable possibility (science, really get on it and hover-boards). Sadly, at almost four, her taking care of herself also may wind up being a very bad idea (not that it wasn’t considered).  As grandma happens to be a teacher, the place was pretty painless to find.

She started a bit early to really figure out how she’d be with all of this.

To back up a bit, and maybe bring you  a bit more into the main issues I’d like to share a small story with you.

When I was 4 or 5 I started preschool. Beforehand I was in my mother’s loving care for my early years.

Aside from my brother and other family members, I wasn’t really around many other kids, save for parks and other things that people bring their kids to. So, in all honesty preschool was the first time I was around other people. I handled it much like a reader here would expect.

With drama, fear, and award-winning sobfests.I was convinced my mom wasn’t coming back to get me. This was a jail, and I was the main inmate (calling kid me a ‘drama queen’ wouldn’t be too far from the truth.. Or inaccurate in anyway shape or form).

So, with this in mind we can move on with this story. I was expecting something similar with Kiddo, I was. After all, while she’s a social butterfly, she’s still my kid.

She’s having a blast. A lot of fun meeting and greeting the other kids there.

Of course, she’s doing better than I am too. Of course.

I wholly expected to feel like this obvious stock image:


Instead I feel like this:

Because I’m somehow completely convinced that this was somehow a bad idea. While sure some simple logic will easily say otherwise, this is not a time for things like critical thinking.

This is a time for panic. Why? Because that’s what I do, of course.

At first, the quiet was wonderful. I tried relaxing. I did. Then, I progressively lost what little pieces I had of calm and wound up doing the thinking thing that tends to make everything worse. I’m a neurotic mess, loves- I really am.

I am proud of the fact that I didn’t call obsessively, just twice and for only a moment. She’s wonderful, and it’s going perfectly. She’s as happy and calm as always and I’m still panicked, just with the realization that there’s absolutely no need for it.

Which, is of course fantastic. I’m proud of her, and it’s amazing to me that she’s actually there. She’s beaming over being a big kid now, and when she gets home she’d better not be too big for snuggles.

Because that’s happening if she likes it or not.

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