Daycare Drop-off, or: Daddy’s Not Crying, You’re Crying.

It’s been a month now that K and I have been back to work. We have settled into a routine – begrudgingly getting out of bed 10 minutes after my alarm goes off at the RUDE hour of 6:30 each morning, dressing and feeding the Wee Baby T, doing the same for myself, and then out the door to daycare.
During T’s transition week he said his first word to K and I: “Bye”.  Complete with a wave.  That one was a little bittersweet – hooray, he said something in context!  Boo, he doesn’t need us anymore!
Once he started full-time though it was another story.  I would drop him off in the morning and be heartbroken as I walked away, the sound of T’s cries echoing in the halls and in my ears.  Similarly when I would pick him up in the afternoon he would start crying the moment he saw me.  It was a figurative double-edged sword – it was nice to know he missed me but it kills me to hear him cry like that!
Fast forward 2 weeks – I’m holding him at the door speaking with the daycare staff and he pushes away from me to lunge towards his teacher. It’s official, he loves Fiona more than me.  I thought the tears were the worst, it turns out I was wrong…
I’m thrilled that he enjoys his time at daycare.  He is surrounded with other toddlers, they have some brilliant toys for him to play with, the arts and crafts look like so much fun, and there is a chef onsite to make fresh meals each day (He eats better than I do!).  Is it just a little selfish to wish he was excited to see me at pick-up time though?

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