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standard February 7, 2007 Leave a response

This morning C and I pulled up in front of her daycare provider’s house. C chirped out “C’s house!Uhm, yeah, I guess you could call it that, you do spend some 32 hours a week there.

You would think that I would have been saddened by such a comment, but in fact I wasn’t. I’m glad C likes it so much at daycare, I’m glad she feels at home there. She’s not confused. She knows that our home is her house too, she just thinks she has two.

When C was three months old I dropped her off for her first full day of daycare. I went to work and I didn’t cry. (I know, heartless mom.) I went through the motions and then I went to pick her up. I missed her, but I knew she would be fine without me. I knew I had to go back to work and I just cowgirled up and did it. A large part of me knew that daycare was a good thing. A small part of me knew I would miss being the most influential person in my baby’s life. It wasn’t easy though, on her fourth day she rolled over for the first time and confirmed my fears of missing her first big milestones.

We survived. She rolled over again and she learned to sit up and she learned to crawl and then walk. I didn’t get to see all her “firsts”, I haven’t been there to hold her each time she’s gotten hurt, but she runs to me at the end of the day and our time apart makes our time together more valuable. She loves her second home, she loves her friends and she loves her caregivers, and I’m thrilled with the choice we made so many months ago. She is a well rounded, self assured, compassionate little girl, and I know that it’s because she goes to a wonderful daycare.

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