She would be upset. I knew that. After almost a year of my daily guidance, love, support and tuition, being left in the care of lesser human beings was always going to be a shock to her system. Still, the trade off for not being in my sublime company is the opportunity for her to become more adaptable, mature, sociable and have greater confidence in her own abilities. Okay, so it's not a fair trade, but again, that's another life lesson that'll stand her in good stead. Turns out abandonment really is the gift that keeps on giving.
We took The Poop into the building, signed in at reception and headed towards 'The Baby Room'. I could sense Betty's rising distress. She began to respond to the unusual surroundings and query the unfamiliar faces, gripping on to me, her beacon of all things known and admirable and 'right', as we pressed on down the corridor. Approaching the door to the room in which we would leave The Poop, all three of us took a deep breath.
I pressed the buzzer.
We waited, the stifled panic between us now palpable; the 'silent but deadly' trump I let off through nerves more so.
A cunningly smiley faced individual swung open the door, allowing the stench of terrified babies to escape from the room beyond. Boo clasped my hand tightly. The member of staff welcomed us with a lick of her lips and stereotypically evil laugh, which echoed hauntingly about the doorway as we stepped through it. Making our way towards the playing space/matted area of doom, I looked to the tiny daughter in my arms, ready to survey the understandable terror etched on her horror-stricken face.
I watched as Betty's eyes darted about the room; weighing up each and every face.
She then turned to me.
She fixed her gaze.
And allowed a huge grin to sweep across her delighted chops.
She then pushed me away and raced elatedly to the group of tiny babies playing happily on the carpet.
I stood.
Agog. Alone. Forlorn.
Without a backwards glance for her Dad or I, The Poop immediately became engrossed in a stupid game with some daft rattles initiated by the irritatingly cheery woman on the carpet. I looked on as she ACTUALLY GIGGLED, LAUGHED AND BABBLED to the other babies alongside her. Having never felt more like a spare part in my life, I witnessed as our daughter's captivated, enchanted little smile became larger and larger, so much so I thought I one point she was running dangerously close to swallowing her own eye. I couldn't take it any more.
Bereft and forsaken, Dave escorted me back out to the car in order to allow Betty to settle amongst her peers for the hour suggested. We busied ourselves while we waited; Dave read in the car, I attempted to throw myself under passing traffic.
Then, it was time to collect her.
I shuffled in, fearful of witnessing my well balanced, self sufficiant, sociable able child jubilantly engaging with strangers. A child I would now have to, in front of a room full of strangers, extract from this apparent epicentre of delightfulness and return to my own tedious, lacklustre, uninspiring ideas of childcare.
I peeled back the door, ready to be wholly annoyed with the far too content little madam that would no doubt greet my eye.
Yet there, being carried about by a consoling adult, was our red eyed daughter, sobbing, whinging and obviously distraught. She glance up momentarily, spotted Dave and I, and instantly reached out towards us with a tiny pathetic yelp of joy. And I have never been prouder.
What a beautifully spineless, timid, cowardly little girl she is. Thank God for that.
We sped to her aid, scooping up her body, and along with it her tiny tears of desertion. I clasped her tiny little frame keenly and cuddled and cuddled her as she cuddled and cuddled right back. Our needy, reliant, helpless little girl was back, and she needed her Mummy. Phew. That's more like it.
Okay, okay, so The Poop had to go through the dreadfully harrowing hour long ordeal of thinking she had been rejected by her parents; but surely she understands that because of this, I now have the chance to again believe I am a validated, certified, endorsed, fully fledged earth mother that she simply cannot function without.
Until next Friday.
We waited, the stifled panic between us now palpable; the 'silent but deadly' trump I let off through nerves more so.
A cunningly smiley faced individual swung open the door, allowing the stench of terrified babies to escape from the room beyond. Boo clasped my hand tightly. The member of staff welcomed us with a lick of her lips and stereotypically evil laugh, which echoed hauntingly about the doorway as we stepped through it. Making our way towards the playing space/matted area of doom, I looked to the tiny daughter in my arms, ready to survey the understandable terror etched on her horror-stricken face.
I watched as Betty's eyes darted about the room; weighing up each and every face.
She then turned to me.
She fixed her gaze.
And allowed a huge grin to sweep across her delighted chops.
She then pushed me away and raced elatedly to the group of tiny babies playing happily on the carpet.
I stood.
Agog. Alone. Forlorn.
Without a backwards glance for her Dad or I, The Poop immediately became engrossed in a stupid game with some daft rattles initiated by the irritatingly cheery woman on the carpet. I looked on as she ACTUALLY GIGGLED, LAUGHED AND BABBLED to the other babies alongside her. Having never felt more like a spare part in my life, I witnessed as our daughter's captivated, enchanted little smile became larger and larger, so much so I thought I one point she was running dangerously close to swallowing her own eye. I couldn't take it any more.
Bereft and forsaken, Dave escorted me back out to the car in order to allow Betty to settle amongst her peers for the hour suggested. We busied ourselves while we waited; Dave read in the car, I attempted to throw myself under passing traffic.
Then, it was time to collect her.
I shuffled in, fearful of witnessing my well balanced, self sufficiant, sociable able child jubilantly engaging with strangers. A child I would now have to, in front of a room full of strangers, extract from this apparent epicentre of delightfulness and return to my own tedious, lacklustre, uninspiring ideas of childcare.
I peeled back the door, ready to be wholly annoyed with the far too content little madam that would no doubt greet my eye.
Yet there, being carried about by a consoling adult, was our red eyed daughter, sobbing, whinging and obviously distraught. She glance up momentarily, spotted Dave and I, and instantly reached out towards us with a tiny pathetic yelp of joy. And I have never been prouder.
What a beautifully spineless, timid, cowardly little girl she is. Thank God for that.
We sped to her aid, scooping up her body, and along with it her tiny tears of desertion. I clasped her tiny little frame keenly and cuddled and cuddled her as she cuddled and cuddled right back. Our needy, reliant, helpless little girl was back, and she needed her Mummy. Phew. That's more like it.
Okay, okay, so The Poop had to go through the dreadfully harrowing hour long ordeal of thinking she had been rejected by her parents; but surely she understands that because of this, I now have the chance to again believe I am a validated, certified, endorsed, fully fledged earth mother that she simply cannot function without.
Until next Friday.
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