When I was still a few weeks away from having Owen, we put him on a waiting list at a daycare center that was extremely conveniently located to where I was (at the time) working. They cheerfully took our $100 deposit and informed us that there would VERY likely be a spot for him "sometime in the spring or at LATEST early summer of 2009." This sounded great, since Owen was due in March. Until I thought about it driving home and realized he was due in March of 2008. bummer. It was just as well though, because once I found out how much full-time care there was (an astronomical amount that I'm pretty sure only neurosurgeons and celebrity dermatologists could afford) I wrote them off. But, the fortuitous intersection of him FINALLY getting to the top of the waiting list and me reducing my hours to a point where I really only needed a small amount of childcare meant that I could actually start sending him there this summer. He goes for a half day on Wednesdays and a full day on Fridays - and it would not be any kind of exaggeration to say that Owen LOVES IT THERE. In fact, it would be pretty safe to say that he loves it there way more than he loves me.
Case in point: today. We get there at drop-off time. All the other toddlers are busy clinging to their mother's power-suited pantlegs, wailing and gnashing their teeth. Owen, however, as he has done since the moment he laid eyes on it, made a beeline for the sand table. (He loves that sand table so much that I briefly considered getting him one for Christmas this year. Then I realized, SAND TABLE in my house? AM I HIGH?) The daycare teachers chirped "say bye to mama! have a good day mama!" Owen barely looks up as he pours a container of sand mixed with glitter onto another little girl's head. Yep, that might be my cue to go. I return at noon, because Owen only gets to go a half day on Wednesdays. He was happily seated at the table with all his little turtle-room buddies, eating his lunch and swiping food from slower eaters when he thinks he can get away with it. When he saw me come in, he was initially excited. He stopped feeding himself his yogurt (which he is more than capable of doing) and demanded I let him sit in my lap and feed him the rest. Aw, sweet. makes me feel appreciated. We finish his lunch, and I start to gather his things up. Owen spies me holding his bag and freezes. I can see him doing the math in his head: "Why's she holding my bag? Why's she putting my lunch bag in there? Wait a minute. Why is she HERE, anyway?" He immediately broke eye contact and ran over to the shelf of plastic dinosaurs and started to play with them very pointedly. "Oh, that lady? Yeah, I know her, but I really don't have the time to be bothered right now because as you can see I'm VERY busy." Unfortunately (actually, very fortunately), 15 month old mind tricks usually don't work, so I went over to pick him up. When he realized my intentions, he started to throw the mother of all tantrums. I was pretty embarrassed. the preschool teachers were all "don't worry, Owen! You can come back Friday! we'll see you friday and you can play all day!". Meanwhile, I slunk out of there with my screaming toddler, trying to telepathically communicate that my house is not actually a dungeon of spikes and lashes.
The whole point of me working less was so that Owen would benefit from being home with me. Turns out all he wants to do is go to daycare. Figures.
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