We survived...again.

Guess who popped out of bed at 6:00 this morning, in a fantastic mood, ready to start her day?

Hint: Not me.

Zoey fared quite well during her first full day at daycare. Many of my concerns about the day turned out to be nothing to worry about (imagine!), but leaving her with Evil Religious Lady was almost as bad as I had feared. We arrived promptly at 6:30 a.m., to find only two other little girls on the scene, eating their waffles quietly at the table in the gym. Zoey is SO not a breakfast kid, and as I explained this to E.R.L., she cut me off by saying "well, just put her in the high chair over there and we'll give her a yogurt, then we'll see how she does when you leave. I suppose I might have to hold her when you leave if she gets upset".

I looked at Zoey. She looked at me. And then I threw her to the wolves.

I sat her in the high chair. I presented her with a yogurt. She gave me a withering look that clearly said, "are you kidding?". I whispered to her that it was time for Mommy to leave, and that she would have a very fun day playing at school. With all the other kids who would get there...later. She whispered back "no 'cool". (Translation: no school.) But after a moment, which I spent debating whether I should rip her out of the high chair, run quickly back to the car, and call work to give them my notice, she leaned in for a kiss and seemed to be fine. So I left. E.R.L. called "bye bye!" as I walked out the door. I peeked in the window of the gym as I was leaving, and there sat my daughter, calmly holding her baby doll all alone in a high chair, staring at a yogurt that she and I both knew would not get eaten.

But she didn't cry. And I didn't either. For awhile, anyway.

Never underestimate the power of a mom who wants to find out how her child is doing without having to deal with the lady who mans the front desk at the daycare. I knew my friend Rebecca would be taking her daughter to preschool that morning at 8:30, so at 8:50 I called her from the O.R. where I was getting ready to help with a procedure. I whispered to her that I needed to know--quickly--how Zoey looked when she had dropped of her daughter. She assured me that my baby was having a GREAT time running all over the gym, playing with the bikes and throwing a ball around to the other kids. Rebecca (God bless her) made sure to get a report from one of the staff members on how Zoey's last two hours had gone. While no breakfast had been consumed yet, Teacher Melina promised Rebecca that she would try to feed Zoey breakfast, again, while the other kids were having their snack.

I was happy to hear that she was doing well. But it made me a little teary, too, for some reason. Suddenly, I really MISSED my kid. As I was trying hard to get a grip and return my attention to the patient in the O.R., the doctor I was working with asked if I was okay. And that set me over the edge.

Side note: this particular doctor is an older Polish gentleman who prides himself on his crabby attitude and enjoys spending the bulk of his time in my company complaining about how awful the hospital is that we work in. Actually, now that I think of it, they aren't all Polish, but the rest of that description fits 95% of the doctors I work with.

I reassured him that I was, in fact, okay, but that I had taken my daughter to daycare for the very first time that morning and it had been rough. On me, apparently--not my daughter. He didn't say much. We went back to the procedure.

Then, two minutes later, he turns to me and says "daycare, this is okay, you know? Kids, they need to be socialized. I went through residency with several people who had been raised by grandma--no socialization! And they turned out weird. Your daughter, she will be fine."

So there you had it. My stressful morning, from daycare drop-off to painfully long staff meeting to the O.R. with Dr. Cranky, all of which was suddenly making me feel like I might be having an aneurysm, and Dr. Cranky turns out to be somewhat nice after all.

(I will take silver linings wherever I can find them.)

I called Rebecca again shortly after noon, when I knew she had been back to pick up her daughter. Zoey was still in fine form. I called the daycare at 3:00--still doing great. She had napped for an hour and a half, even!

I picked her up at 4:30 and she was overjoyed to see me. She immediately asked to go bye-bye. I was happy to hear that everyone had participated in Project Slather-Zoey-In-Diaper-Cream, and happy to see that my child did not appear to be mentally unstable after being left all day in a daycare.

I asked her all about her day on the way home. Generally, this is a yes-or-no type conversation, meaning I ask yes-or-no questions and Zoey invariably answers "yeah". Did you play with your friends today? Yeah. Did you color a kitty picture? Yeah. Did you take a good nap? Yeah. Did you milk a cow? Yeah. Sure, mom, whatever. BUT, as we were getting out of the car, she pointedly (and very seriously) told me "apple. 'cool.". A breakthrough! "You had apples at school?!?" I asked her, so excited. The answer? "Yeah."

Surprisingly, she held it together at home for most of the evening. Judging by the contents of her lunch box (read: most of the contents that went WITH her to school came RIGHT BACK HOME), she had made it through most of the day on two bites of a sandwich and her applesauce. (A new favorite around here, dubbed "apple shoop".) This likely explains her Human Hoover Maneuver at dinner time. I couldn't keep the pasta and beans coming fast enough. We made it through bath time, and the Massive Meltdown I could sense was on it's way arrived at 7:37 p.m. (Approximately two hours later than I had originally predicted.)

She was in bed, asleep, by 8:00.

And that concludes my lengthy description of Zoey's First Day at Daycare. For those of you who only wanted the highlights, well, I'm sorry. Feel free to skim-read future posts!