While we were there I asked if we could do a trial run, just for a couple hours the next day. I figured it would be a good opportunity to get her acquainted with the center, and give me a bit more confidence about leaving her for a full day. They happily obliged, and informed me that there would be a couple people there doing developmental evaluations, so if I came in the morning we could get her in on that as well.
So yesterday after her morning feed we scurried down there to get her settled before nap time. She was kind of zoned out, so it was hard to gauge her mood but Rose was happy to take her, while I assured them I'd be back in an hour or two. I filled out a form for her developmental screening, gave them quick info on when she'd need to sleep, and was on my way.
I expected to be upset, or worried, but I felt pretty calm, and actually a little detached from it all. I figured I'd only be gone a short time, she'd hardly know the difference. I didn't have anything thrilling lined up, but I needed to drop off my new mini fridge at work, so I headed to the office. It was delightfully convenient to be able to unload the car without also trig to wrangle a stroller. I got my fridge all set up, checked in with Sarah, who filled me in on the progress with BTS, and chit-chatted with some folks to kill a bit more time before headed back for pick up. I was a little concerned about how Piper was doing, but it was out of my hands, so I just hoped for the best.
I got back to the center just before 11 and saw the group out on the playground. I was slightly concerned, as Piper should have been sleeping, but it was beautiful out, so I could hardly blame them for take advantage. And maybe she was sleeping afterall...but as soon as I got up to the field, I heard her wail. She was wrapped in a blanket, screaming her face off. Miss Sue quickly handed her to me, and said, "yeah, she cried a bit." One look at Piper's face told me that she had been crying more than a bit...and likely hadn't slept at all either. Rose asked if she had a pacifier, and I realized I hadn't told them she wouldn't take one. All of a sudden I felt crushed by the terrible weight of failure. I hadn't prepared them well. I should have filled them in better... I should have brought more supplies...I should have done something, to prevent my poor little peanut from crying all morning. But I was also disappointed in the daycare. Why hadn't she taken a nap? Why would she be outside instead of resting? And where were her socks?
But I didn't have much time to dwell on it. While I consoled my sniveling little girl, Rose told me the screeners wanted to talk with me about Piper's evaluation, "something about her neck" she said. Great. Now I'm not only a bad mom for taking her to daycare (underprepared, no less) but now there was actually something wrong with my daughter.
Rose was making polite small talk, which should have put me at ease, but instead I just felt more alone and upset. No one saw the magnitude of the morning. They weren't concerned about how upset and exhausted Piper was. Sure, they don't like to see her cry, but it wasn't a huge deal like it would have been to me. I began to feel that she was just one of many. They do their best to keep all of the kids happy but the needs of the group trump the needs of the individual. Piper is used to us fawning over her day and night, rushing to fulfill her every whim, and happily indulging her desire for attention and comfort. Those days (at least Monday through Friday, 8-6) are over, and my poor little girl is going to have to adapt. I'm worried she's too young, too small, too new, and she's going to struggle on her own. I want to be there to reassure her. To anticipate and know her needs. To rock her as long as she wants. I wanted to promise her I'd never leave her. And if I couldn't do that, at least reassure her that whoever is with her would be just a caring, just as focused, as me. That she would be their number one priority. But I can't promise her that. Right now, the plan is for her to go to daycare. And while i hope that se gets excellent care, she won't be the only baby there. For four months she was the center of my universe, and now, abruptly, she will have to learn to be just a part of someone else's world.
But while my thoughts and feelings swirled, there was still the matter of meeting with the evaluation team. Rose collected her blanket, leaving me with a red faced, barefoot infant, and passed me off to Heather. She filled me in on Piper's results. They found that Piper has a flat spot on one aide of her head, and she tends to tilt her head at an angle. They're worried one side of her neck might be tight or weak, and wondered if I had noticed. I hadn't. Chalk up one more thing on the list of ways I had let my daughter down today. She recommended getting us in touch with a physical therapist who could show us some stretches to help balance her out, before she's older and more resistant to therapy. It wasn't terrible news, and Heather seemed unconcerned. It's a mild problem and catching it early should ensure that it doesn't turn into anything major. But those are facts, whereas I was dealing strictly in emotions. My precious baby was damaged. And I hadn't even noticed.
I thanked everyone for their time and support, and put a still sniffling Piper into her carseat. She cried the whole (2 minute) ride home, fought a nap, and finally settled down with me to eat. And after that, for her part anyway, all was forgotten. She laughed and played and talked and napped the day away, like nothing had ever happened. She proved her resiliency, or at least showed he limitations of her memory. She wasn't especially clingy or fragile. There was clearly no damage done. Well, no damage to her. I on the other hand, was not so quick to dismiss the morning's events. I had hoped this day would boost my confidence, and show me that we would be okay navigating this new territory. But this quick two hour practice round had left me more nervous than ever. I wanted to escape. I wanted to bury my head in the maternity leave sand, and cling to my crooked little babe and not let go. I began to mentally scramble- what could we do instead? Where could we take her? What if I didn't go back? But I knew I was overreacting. One tough morning does not resign us to a lifetime of tears and guilt. Plenty of babies struggle on their first day, and go on to thrive in day care. And making a fear based knee-jerk reaction to stay home wouldn't guarantee a smoother road.
So Monday morning I'll pack up by baby, and stuff down my sadness as I drop her off again. This time I'll be ready with a swaddle blanket, and detailed instructions on how to care for my precious little girl (and maybe I'll even bring some extra socks). And then I'll bite my lip as I walk away, and pray that neither one of us spends the day crying. After all, if they manage to love her even a tenth as much as I do, then she'll be ok.
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