Hump Day Confessions

Dear Wednesday,

I have to confess, I'm glad you are not a 'daycare day'. I can't handle another daycare day right now. I'm exhausted just thinking about the stress Tracen is going through lately. I'm getting questions thrown at me that I don't want to answer because I know he'll start crying, barrel into my arms and collapse. Like Monday, Monday was bad.

Monday I actually sat in the hallway at school, holding Tracen while he trembled in my arms, crying that he didn't want to go in his classroom, that he didn't want me to leave. I was a mess. I cried too, holding him tightly in hopes the embrace would calm him down. Like those jackets you put on a dog, the pressure is supposed to make them relax. But Tracen is not a dog nor did it work, so we just cried together, on the floor, holding each other as other parents dropped their kids off. The daycare owner came and tried calming us both down. Prying him from my arms to give me a break, a moment to regroup. Holding him, consoling him like he was her own.

The whole morning leading up to the meltdown wasn't bad, in fact, it was relatively normal. He woke up and did his usual morning thing; not wanting to leave my spot of the bed that holds the warmth around his little body, asked to watch a Peppa Pig, reluctantly got dressed, drank some juice and got in the car. He was a little hesitant on the drive to school but didn't say much. When we arrived he waited for me to get Sky out and we rang the bell to be buzzed in. I held his hand, staring down at his face, wondering when it was going to happen. Last Friday, the 5th, was his first day of preschool and it took Jer and I an hour to leave. I was scared what today had in store, with just me this time. We took Sky to the infant room and I could sense it. The tension, stress, as he looked at me waiting for me to mumble the words "now on to the big boy room Trey."

When I spoke, his lips began to quiver, the same way mine do when I'm about to start ugly crying {as if there is a non ugly way to cry?}. They started. The tears, lots of them, full force. The infants started staring, Sky just ate {per usual, he was use to this.} Trey ran off screaming "I don't want to go to the big boy roooooommmmm!!!!" and I went looking for him. He was sitting on the floor in his old room that he transitioned from with his head in his hands. I lost it. I melted. I couldn't help it if I tried. So I scooped him up and started walking with him back into the hallway. Trying to reassure him that he was brave, a big brother and he was so lucky he got to play all day with his friends. He looked at me and sobbed "but I don't want you to weave, I want to play wif you and sing songs wif you. please don't weave me mumma"

Now you can understand why my lips started shaking. When a child tells you that, you lose it. You don't care that you're late for work, or that traffic is going to be horrific. All you care about are those words, those emotions attached to the 'don't weave me.' This is when the owner came in to the rescue, she saw I needed it. I honestly had no idea what else to do. I consoled him by saying daddy would be there in a little bit to pick him up and I loved him. Then I left. There was nothing left to do but leave and call Jerek crying on the way into work.

As we inch one day past a daycare day, we also inch one day closer to the next. To the next feeling of security that is lost when we have to drop off. To the next set of tears I don't want to see stream from his bright blue eyes. To the next guilt I'm left to deal with as I head to work, stressed out myself. As I bring all of these emotions and anxiety with me. They travel in my car, up to my office and back home. Until he walks through the doors and runs in and smiles, 'I had a good day, I was brave mommy!'