Dear Bubba,
Allow me to begin by apologizing for the sixty-eight million hugs to which I subjected you yesterday — I was feeling a wee bit emotional about your impending daycare career and may have gone a bit overboard. Actually, while we’re on the subject of apologies, I’m just going to go ahead and issue a preemptive apology for crying when I drop you off in the morning…and for the relief tears I am sure to shed tomorrow afternoon when you return home unscathed (YOU BETTER RETURN HOME UNSCATHED).
And yes, in case you were curious, I am indeed crying right now at the very thought of our new lives as Daycare People.
Where was I? Oh yeah, daycare. Today’s the day, Bubba: the day I relinquish your daily care to strangers and probably set into motion an irreversible trend towards you not caring about me since we’ll never spend any time together. If you grow up to be a serial killer or one of those creepy weirdos who dresses up in mascot costumes and has sex with other creepy weirdos wearing mascot costumes (just as bad as a serial killer, if we’re being honest), we’ll all know it’s because you spent your childhood at daycare. “Crazy Ryan Wachter,” they’ll say as they shake their heads in disgust. “If only his mother hadn’t sent him to daycare, all those innocent lives and/or mascot costumes could have been spared…”
(Although to be fair, all those crime shows I watched with you when you were an infant probably didn’t help either.)
Have I mentioned that I’m sorry that you have to go to daycare?
In all seriousness, I’m sure you’ll be just fine. The daycare is run by our very own neighbor, after all. I’ll literally be able to hear you when you’re playing outside:
And you were pretty excited when we went over there for a visit this weekend. If I recall correctly, you nearly killed yourself by attempting to leap out of my arms when I picked you up to leave. Can’t say I blame you, of course, considering the fact that their backyard contains (among other thrilling features) a sandpit full of bulldozers and tractors as well as a freakin’ STREAM; meanwhile, the biggest excitement in our backyard is a deflated basketball that we may or may not have found behind the garage when we moved in:
So yes, I’m actually fairly certain I don’t really have anything to worry about; you will, of course, be fine. But since it is a whole new experience for you as well as for me, indulge me just a little longer by pretending you care about a few last daycare-related tidbits:
- Please try to refrain from throwing your food (they probably won’t think it’s as funny as I do; they also don’t have our dog underfoot to reap the rewards/clean it up).
- I’m sorry you can’t bring Mr. Bearski with you. I agonized over it and decided it’s probably best if you DON’T end up like your mother in this regard — you must learn early to survive without him. Plus, I really don’t want to deal with a bedtime freakout when we inevitably realize that we forgot to bring him back home with us. I promise he’ll be here waiting for you when you return!
- Don’t forget about your mama! Be happy and have fun and all that crap, but I swear to god, if you act indifferent towards me at the end of the day, I will force you to participate in an attempt at breaking the world record for longest mother-son hug in history. Is that what you want?!
Good luck, Bubba. You’re going to do great, and remember:
MOMMY LOVES YOU!!!!
(And seriously: don’t cry over there. I really will hear you.)
The Baby Is Fine 