Parting is such sweet sorrow

If there's a tougher parenting gig than dropping off a 2 1/2 year old for the first time ever in daycare, I don't want to do it.

Lincoln was fine throughout the morning, excited to wear his Thomas backpack, cooperative enough when getting dressed and eating breakfast, but I could sense him tense after we dropped off his sister at the Haydens, who are walking/driving her to school each morning at 9. He got quiet and I could hear him sucking the ring and middle fingers of his right hand. (For those of you who haven't met him, that's his go-to comfort move -- grab his blanket and insert those two fingers, always those two. And you can't pull them out, either, he clamps down on them like a vise. Probably going to be a big dental bill in our future.) To his credit, he didn't get fussy when we first arrived at Children's Learning Tree. He carried in his own backpack (it was too heavy to wear) and waited patiently while I loaded up his cubby with extra clothes, Kleenex, wipes and diapers. We then met each of the teachers -- Miss Joy, Miss Michelle, Miss Somebody Whose Name I Can't Recall. All look like they should stop finishing the kids' animal crackers, but all had that Zen-like calm about them that suggests there isn't a child behavior they haven't dealt with in their years on the job. Lincoln met them all in my arms, only occasionally turning the shy shoulder. We made some brief small talk, but it was quickly time for the dreaded handover. He immediately grasped my neck and started crying, "I want to go home! I want to go home!" I started to choke up, so I quickly disentangled my arms from his waist, transferred puppy blanket with my free hand to Miss Joy's shoulder, then told Lincoln (as tears started welling up) that Mommy would pick him up after his nap. Naturally I got halfway out of the building before realizing I'd forgotten my gloves. Tried to sneak back into the classroom without being seen, but didn't make it. "Daddy! Daddy!" was the last thing I heard...

Fast forward to 10:30 a.m. when I call to see how he's doing. The director, Miss Sheryl, is effusive with her praise. "We wish every child's first day was like Lincoln's!" Really? Miss Michelle, his classroom teacher, was more honest. Yes, he cried a bit, but he also mingled with the kids, ate a good snack, and looks on his way to a good nap.

Carey and I did a joint pick-up this evening and Miss Sheryl greeted us at the door. She wanted us to look through the hallway window before letting the kids know we were there. They were seated at a table with one other boy and a caregiver, coloring. Looked just like they have on countless days with Mommy supervising at our kitchen table. When I poked my head around the corner, Lincoln yelled, "Daddy!" with a much different inflection than I heard 10 hours ago. He hugged my legs and reached up with his little hands, silently asking to be picked up.

When we got home, the kids were starved for dinner and TV, so we gave them both at the same time. After filling his belly and having his fill of Angelina Ballerina, Lincoln noticed Mommy's new work shoes by the door. He doesn't look too traumatized, does he?

So, I think this might just work. I just needed a reminder that there's an entire industry based on the fact that Americans can't afford to raise their own children. And we're just a Mommy paycheck away from paying our mortgage without dipping into savings for the first time since Sept. 2007. Sounds like a good first day to me.