Hooks for Babies Hooks for Essays About Babysitting
I Sent My Daughter to Daycare Instead of a Nanny & I Couldn't Be Happier
Anybody warned me it would be and so difficult, merely sending my baby to daycare was one of my best parenting decisions.
When I was pregnant, I ofttimes met other pregnant women who could rattle off their philosophies on sleep training and secure attachment, and deliver TED Talk-worthy presentations on the merits of this versus that crib or stroller. I wondered, how did all these women seemingly already know how to raise children? I felt as if my recurring nightmare had come true, the one where I testify up for a final exam only to realize I've missed an entire semester'southward worth of classes. Personally, I had no strong convictions about baby sleeping arrangements, no grand vision for our nursery—no idea, I thought, about how to exist a female parent. When I was asked virtually my time to come parenting plans, my nonchalant shrug belied the panic I felt in the pit of my tummy.
But, when talk inevitably turned to childcare, I was surprised to hear myself limited a articulate, confident stance: "My daughter volition go to daycare, definitely."
Of course she would. I knew I would keep working—I'd spent over a decade building my career, and I cared most my chore, not to mention that it wasn't a financial option for me not to return to work. Daycare was a financial necessity likewise—it costs a fortune, yes, merely a nanny costs 2 fortunes. Nonetheless, finances bated, I loved the idea of my kid spending her days hanging out with other kids, being cared for by a team of childcare professionals, in a setting designed for little ones to play and explore.
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I was sold on our daycare the moment my married man and I walked through the doors. In the vivid, cozy playroom, a couple of babies were tucked into the lap of a instructor reading to them, a trio of toddlers was edifice a block belfry, and the owner was playing the ukulele and singing "She'll be coming around the mount" to a cluster of kids dancing and rolling effectually the rug. The space smelled similar cinnamon oatmeal, which the group had eaten for breakfast. By the time we made it to the grassy backyard filled with playground equipment and a small garden, I was ready to hang upward my coat on my own designated claw and enroll myself at the daycare. I was thrilled for my daughter—all the same nestled in my belly at the time—to larn and grow in this sweet environment.
My maternity leave spanned a gorgeous summertime. When autumn arrived and it was time to get back to work, I felt anxious nigh a dozen things: the commute, the chest-pumping, the challenging assignments I'd need to complete on very little slumber. But among my anxieties was not the fact of sending my daughter to daycare. I'd enjoyed several beautiful months as a total-time mother, but I didn't wish to keep at it permanently, and I didn't feel guilty about information technology.
When people inquired nearly my childcare plans, some told me they could never leave their kids similar that—with strangers in a strange identify. Others lamented the high toll of living, assuming that I'd be staying at habitation if I could. And many who'd sent their own kids to daycare responded with sympathy: A friend told me her child's starting time solar day there was the worst twenty-four hours of her life; she assured me it would get easier. A coworker related that he felt so distraught after dropping off his daughter, he ended up picking her up ten minutes later, never to return.
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The writer'southward family dressed upwardly for a wedding after her daughter's first solar day of daycare.
| Credit: Courtesy of Lindsey J. Palmer
Nigh of these people meant well, and I respected their opinions and experiences. But I simply didn't share their fears, their worries, their regrets. I believed to my core that it would be practiced for my daughter to have lots of caring, competent adults in her life. It takes a village, right? Every bit far as I was concerned, the more love and attention she received, the better. When I expressed these feelings to my therapist, she kept prompting me to dig deeper, to get in touch with the sadness or ambivalence I might feel about handing off my babe to other caretakers. I probed and probed my heart and mind, simply I felt fine about information technology—really, truly.
When information technology came time to drop off my four-month-erstwhile for day i of daycare, it was strange to scout her handling a rattle that wasn't ours and to see her being held by a woman whose name I'd just learned. I felt a twinge acknowledging the transition—the start of this new chapter, the terminate of the concluding i. Simply as I waved goodbye, I felt confident my daughter was in fantastic hands—hands that had spent way more time than my ain changing diapers and feeding bottles and singing lullabies to countless little ones. When I returned that evening, my daughter greeted me with a broad smiling, and I felt a surge of happiness—this would get her place, her community.
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The author's daughter, happy during her first week at 24-hour interval intendance.
| Credit: Courtesy of Lindsey J. Palmer
Ane year later on, my daughter has grown to dear her teachers equally much as they love her, and she has a slew of friends she eats and plays and naps with every mean solar day. When I drop her off and the aromas of salary and eggs waft through the kitchen, she runs to grab her chair, says how-do-you-do to her buddies, and gleefully waves me goodbye. She comes dwelling each evening maxim new words and demonstrating new skills (and sometimes wearing new clothes).
Most of motherhood all the same feels like trial and mistake to me. And I still find myself in conversations with parents who seem to have it all figured out, as they hold forth on screen time or discipline or school districts. But more and more I've realized that different things are of import to unlike parents, and what's right for them isn't necessarily right for us, and vice versa. I feel strongly about this one big thing, that daycare is fantastic for our family. The rest we're figuring out as we proceed.
Of course, there are days I would adopt to stay home and be with my daughter all twenty-four hours. And sometimes the weekday math strikes me as ridiculous: the 2 or three hours I have with my daughter versus the viii hours I spend in front of a figurer screen in my role. But i consolation is that I've gotten to know other daycare parents who share my confidence in our childcare selection. At pick-upwardly the other day, a fellow mom turned to me and said, "Isn't this place amazing? Our kids are and so happy here." She said it conspiratorially like nosotros'd discovered some buried treasure. And really, I believe we have.
Lindsey J. Palmer is the author of three novels, including "Otherwise Engaged," which comes out on Feb 26. A former magazine editor and loftier school English teacher, she at present writes movie scripts for the ed tech company BrainPOP. Find Lindsey at lindseyjpalmer.com.
Source: https://www.parents.com/baby/childcare/daycare/i-send-my-child-to-daycare-and-couldnt-be-happier/
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