At this point, Harrison has been in daycare longer (7 months) than he stayed at home with us (6 months). Still, it's weird to me that he has these 35 of 168 hours a week that I don't really know about. He has a little life of his own, with a routine and social network and friends. And since he can't talk and tell me about his day, the only record I have of his 7 daily hours at daycare is his Poop Report, which also has information about his nap time, what he ate, and what his other activities were: e.g., "Went Outside," "Sang Songs," "Read Books," "Visited the Grammas and Grandpas," "Played in Gym" etc.
As Harrison has gotten older, my love-hate relationship with daycare has been trending toward the love end of the scale. At the beginning, I felt 100% hate/guilt. Now that he's mobile and communicative and devouring experience, day care is a good place for him. Even better, now that he's older, he can really participate in our center's intergenerational programming.
Yesterday, Miss Sandy told me that last week when they went to visit the Grammas and Grandpas in the nursing home, Harrison had made a special friend in one of the Grammas. The other kids in the class didn't want to sit with her, but Harrison sat on her lap and visited with her for the whole time. She was delighted. The woman's son and daughter-in-law happened to be visiting and they took pictures of Harrison and their mother.
Earlier this week, the woman passed away in her sleep
I don't even know her name, but I am so proud that Harrison was able to meet her and make her happy for that brief visit.
I miss him every single day, but sending him to daycare is getting easier.
And I hope I get copies of those pictures.
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