In an attempt to showcase how well Dubs is making the transition to daycare (in-home, same place his two cousins go, and for all of a day and a half a week), his provider told me “he was smiling today, I even got a picture.”

I thought, “huh, so this means he normally doesn’t really smile?” (and he has been there for a month now).

She did not read my mind, and continued: “normally the kids and I tease him all day saying ‘don’t smile, don’t you do it!’ because he doesn’t smile.  Sometimes he’ll smile when he’s eating his berries, but today, today he was actually smiling when he wasn’t at the table.”

So… this means he has been more miserable than even I had imagined…

I kind of thought that it would be easier for him to be in daycare once he was a little bit older.  And I also thought his cousins being there would help him out a little too.  He hasn’t really made the transition very easy.  Nor very peacefully.  And he sure isn’t going quietly.  I know this is a trait I really will truly admire, and be grateful for, when he is a little older (like out of my house and in the job market older).  But for now it is a little gut wrenching, sometimes traumatizing and always a little heartbreaking.

My sister was also kind enough to share some of Dubs’ experiences at daycare with me, ones my wise daycare provider is seasoned enough not to share with me.  My sister picked her kids up early one day and her oldest (almost 3) was just getting up from his nap, and like his mom, is very grumpy when woken.  He decided he was not going with her and would only leave if daddy were to come get him.  So she waited him out while watching Dubs’ sad transition.  Apparently he would “yell” at the provider, she would say “no, no, no yelling”, pick him up, put him in a room away from where the kids are sleeping and then wait until he stopped yelling, pick him back up and bring him back out to socialize telling him “thank you for not yelling.”  They did this dance for a half an hour before Dubs gave up and went toff to sulk by himself.

When my sister called to tell me this, she also told me that the daycare provider had to take the bell off the door.  Every time he heard it he thought it was his knight in shining armor coming to rescue him (aka: mama).  He would get so upset that is wasn’t me, she decided to take the bell off the door.

It was at about this point I told my sister I was at work and had to go.  That was a lie.  I could have talked for hours if I had wanted too.  But I could not hear how miserable my little beast was at daycare, not one more word.  I knew it was going to be tough, and I know that he is stubborn.  But really, spare me the gory details.  There is only so much I can handle.

Oh, and twice he has enjoyed french toast at daycare.  And twice I have said kindly “with eggs?”