Tomorrow is Dylan's first day in childcare and I'm feeling a flurry of emotions. I'm nervous he's going to be scared, I'm scared he's going to feel abandoned, I'm worried that they won't know his cues, and I'm terrified because it's a first for the both of us. In a perfect world, I would be the one on the floor playing with Dylan, reading him Dr. Seuss, and singing itsy-bitsy-spider. I toyed with the idea of quitting my job and staying at home, but the thought of being at the mercy of a tight budget quickly sent that idea into a tailspin. I'm not great with money, I have zero patience for clearance hunting, and I am certainly not ready to become a shell of financial induced stress for the sake of being a helicopter mom.
But if I allow myself to dig a little, there are a lot of positives buried beneath my daycare apprehensions. Like the fact that Dylan is going to be in a structured environment where he will socialize with other babies, engage in activities that encourage development, and will be challenged to become a little more independent by trained professionals. So in a way, I am excited. I want the best for Dylan and my mama bear ways tell me that this could be a great move. But it didn't come easy. The cost of daycare is understandably high, and in order to minimize the financial impact, I forfeited my three-day weekends and will be working Monday's again. I have enjoyed mommy Monday's and it wasn't easy to give them up but there's no limit to what a mother will sacrifice for the greater good of her child. And the peace of mind a fancy schmancy childcare program offers this paranoid protector is worth its weight in gold. So it will be fine. Right?