Scene One: Drop-off
What I Expected
Walk in to find all of the kids singing a song or something. My daughter would be nervous at first, probably clinging to me for protection. We would stay there for about an hour to ease her into the daycare process. She would scream and holler as we tried to leave. I'd muster up the will to leave her there.
What Happened
Walked in to find the kids eating breakfast. All of them looked like hobbits next to my human growth hormone-sponsored daughter. She went straight to playing with the toys and ignored the presence of all of the children. She cried only when I tried to get her to eat. The teacher suggested we just let her play. I took off my coat in preparation for the long haul. Three minutes later, I picked it back up to leave at the teacher's subtle suggestion. Attempts to tell my daughter goodbye were met with indifference as she played with the toys and other "not-hungry" children.
Scene Two: Midday Check-In
What I Expected
A call around noon to the daycare would reveal my daughter's immediate sadness at the realization that mommy and daddy were gone. Guilt would creep in because I didn't say goodbye. The teacher would tell us things she planned to do to keep her calm throughout the day. I might possibly be able to hear my daughter crying inconsolably in the background.
What Happened
"She's asleep. We went out to play and she came back and said that she wanted to take a nap. It was about 30 minutes earlier than we usually put them down, but since it's her first day, we let her take a nap."
Scene Three: Pick Up
What I Expected
I was going to pick her up early. Surely, being left in new surroundings for seven hours has taken its toll. She's sitting in a corner somewhere wondering if we've abandoned her. She hasn't played much all day. The teachers will tell me things to do tomorrow to make it easier on her. They'll tell me that she cried a few times, but if I'm lucky they will say that they were able to distract her most of the time. She'll run into my arms the minute that she sees me come through the door. She won't let go. My heart will break at the thought of her having to go through all of it again tomorrow.
What Happened
I walk in and see her, but her back is to me. I speak to the teacher, but my daughter doesn't immediately recognize my voice. I call out to her and brace myself for the impact of her 37 lb, 3 foot 2 inch frame running full speed into me. I wait for it. She looks at me... and turns back around to resume playing with a toy grasshopper. The teacher frowns at me and tells me that it's okay. Her pity hurts.
I ask how things went. Did she cry a lot? "She didn't cry at all, actually." Did she have a hard time adjusting to you taking her to the bathroom? "Not at all. She told me when she had to go and she went by herself." That's...good. "Yeah, she seemed to have a lot of fun here and was running around pretty much all day, except for that nap earlier."
It is in this moment that I look down to see my daughter standing beside me with a giant magnifying glass and peering through it at my hand a la Sherlock Holmes as if she's examining me. "Time to go sweetheart." She runs away. "We'll be back tomorrow." She puts up a fight. The teacher (you know, the woman she just met today) says, "You'll be back tomorrow. Don't worry." My daughter just calms down like her word is bond.
As we're leaving, my daughter (the one who hardly ever talks to strangers...or family members...or even me) says, "Okay, bye guys. See you later. Goodbye!" and waves! She looks at me and says, "Okay, let's go."
In my head, I hear Stewie Griffin..."Who the hell do you think you are?"
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