“How would the teachers be able to give her their full attention and make sure she came to no harm?” I wondered.
I was assured she was fine, the group was small and there was an assistant. What’s more, they said she settled down after a few minutes and stopped crying for mummy. This didn’t make it a whole lot easier but it made it manageable. What really helped, was seeing her smiling when I came to meet her. She seemed to have had a nice day. If only she could speak!
Come Friday evening, she was exhausted and so was I. I longed for a few hours’ adult company and baby-free. occasionally, thanks to some good friends and a fab babysitter, I got it.
After a year:
When she’d turned one, she was allowed to join the nursery where I worked. The idea was, it would make life easier. Wrong! Instead of waking round to the nursery with a buggy and dropping my daughter off, I had to walk to the garage, get her strapped in a car seat, drive 23 km, park in an underground garage where I invariably had to deal with shoes kicked off or some such in the relative dark, then get her to the nursery without her having a meltdown (she didn’t seem to like her new teachers at first).
On the plus side, that year, I was allowed to do 4 days instead of 5. Did I choose to have my daughter with me and spend quality time together? No. Why not? As it wouldn’t have been quality time as I needed time to get on top of things and appreciated some ‘me-time’. At least it meant that come the weekend, I felt organized and could enjoy her company.