So, yeah. New world. Obama won. I really am happy about that, BUT..
I had to do the dreaded day-care drop-off this morning. (DDDo, for short.) I have avoided the DDDo for almost a year entirely now, because I am not good at just walking away. From children in general, much less my child. At our old daycare, I was always late to work when I’d have to do drop-off because I’d sit and play with the babies. I LOVED THOSE BABIES. I would cuddle them and play with them, I knew them all by name, and I began to love watching their faces light up when I walked in the room.
(Sidenote: I think it is my calling in life to be an infant daycare worker. As soon as someone will pay me $900bazillion a year to do it, I’M SO THERE.)
But this new daycare has a different set-up. It’s to be more hygenic, but it has the side-effect of being more.. sterile. You’re not allowed in the baby area. You literally hand the baby over a door. Which is GREAT for limiting contamination of the baby area, right? BUT IT SUCKS FOR THE CUDDLING OF CHILDREN THAT ARE NOT MINE.
(Zoot can confirm that cuddling other children at AndyZ’s daycare is a great passtime.)
So I hand the baby over the half-door. And my baby? LUNGES for me. LUNGES, people. As in, throws his body with all of his 11-month old strength in my general direction. And when his caretaker doesn’t let go? HE REACHES FOR ME AND CRIES.
CRIES. People, he CRIED. My baby does not cry over TEETH, for Crissakes.
“Tell Mommy bye,” said the cheery caretaker. Apparently Binja’s been getting a bit more emotional over drop-offs as of late. They knew this routine. I smiled, trying to be put-together, and did our little dramatic open-close-fist wave that we’re working on.
AND HE LUNGED AGAIN.
AT ME. FROM BEHIND A DOOR.
Now, before today, I was very much the stoic heartless bitch who watches SuperNanny and judges the parents with the all-knowingness of the SuperMother that I am. This morning? I sat in my car at the daycare and waited for a caretaker to come running out to find me. I imagined seeing her running down the hall, both arms flailing, busting through the doors, spying my car, and hurling herself in front of it, screaming, “NO, DON’T GO! HE’LL BE MISERABLE WITHOUT YOU!”
Of course, this did not happen. Although I waited, in case.
And then I got a Salted Caramel Hot Chocolate.
