DAYCARE

This week I am experiencing one of the hardest weeks I have lived since I became a mother, and I want to tell you about this experience from the heart.

With all the enthusiasm in the world, my husband and I decided that it was time to enroll our 2-year and 4-month-old daughter in daycare. Day by day, we saw that we had an "independent," sociable, friendly, and very, very happy girl. If we add to that the fact that she will be starting "big kid" school in September, it seemed to us that a short stint in preschool was necessary for her to, perhaps, mature certain behaviors and especially her communication skills before the big challenge ahead.

In September of last year, we started looking at daycare options and decided to go back to the preschool that welcomed Elisa when she was barely 4 months old in the nursery (yes, I know, she was very little). A familiar, small, rustic place, very close to home and my work. You might wonder what Elisa was doing in a nursery at 4 months... well, let me tell you: we initially didn't want to have a nanny, and the nursery seemed like an excellent option to leave Elisa after maternity leave. The multiple illnesses, hospitalizations for bronchiolitis, otitis, gastroenteritis, and the other "itises" we experienced in the first 8 months, made us give up on this option and instead look for someone who could take care of her at home, helping us with her development, of course. In a very short time, we found the best person life could have put in our path to take care of our treasure: a being of light, loving, dedicated, with experience and much knowledge on the subject, creative, and very cheerful. Thanks to this, our little one has learned many things at home, but we felt she needed to share with more children her age.

INTEGRATION AND RECREATION DAY

On Sunday we had a day of integration, adaptation and getting to know each other at the daycare. We went as a family to spend a morning in the place we chose as a safe space for our little one, where she would meet new friends, learn songs, imagine figures that she would later capture in beautiful drawings. We were excited because we knew that the daughter of some friends would be in the same class, and we were convinced that it would be a great help for Elisa's adaptation; our girl would not be sad, she would be accompanied and would always have someone to play with.

It was a morning full of laughter and colors, we played, colored, met our travel companions, sang... and the park was the best ally for a lot of fun!

We finished the day, and faced with my daughter's crying at having to be separated from her friend for the rest of Sunday, we predicted that starting preschool and changing her routine would be very easy, making the adaptation time very short.

AND THE DAY CAME…

Monday morning we woke up full of anticipation and, I confess, a bit rushed to take Elisa to her first day of preschool. After a short scramble to get her ready, "combed and messy," it was time for the photos that would preserve that memory forever. In them, we see a smiling and happy girl, enjoying the novelty of her first uniform and a colorful backpack (bigger than her, really), and on the other side of the camera, parents who, between nerves and joy, saw how their baby had stopped being one to give way to a "ready" girl for a new stage.

We arrived at the daycare, and that beautiful smile faded, replaced by a timid "mommy come," a stretched-out hand inviting me not to leave her, and a furrowed brow showing a little anxiety, fear, and confusion. Little by little, my little one moved away, and we stood at the door unable to enter. My husband invited me to leave, not to make the moment more difficult. With butterflies in my stomach and a little sadness remembering how our baby entered without her characteristic smile, I went to work with the firm conviction of being a strong mother and not starting to ask about her every 10 minutes.

The first day of daycare ended, I picked her up and the teacher only told me "mom, Elisa was a little anxious and cried because the other friends were crying, although afterwards she played in the park, it's part of the process, don't worry." I looked at my daughter and found a dirty little face, with swollen eyes and a sad look. I hugged her and said: my love, mommy is here, I will always come for you. Did you have a good time at daycare? Shall we go back tomorrow? To which she very seriously answered with a categorical "NO."

Not to make this story too long, we've been in daycare for 3 days and between guilt and hope I keep telling her that daycare is fun, that she's going to learn a lot and that she's going to enjoy it. She still doesn't sound very convinced, despite (sometimes) answering that she does want to go back.

With this short 3-day experience in preschool, I confirm once again that every child is a different world, that each one's experiences and adaptations are very different, and that although I consider myself a strong mother, I am the most chicken of chickens.

Andrea Vazart

Ps/ While reviewing this text for publication, the night of this third day (Wednesday) arrived and my conclusion is that my daughter is officially allergic to daycare, we already started with fever and discomfort...