Creche And Burn….(Or What Happened When I Signed Up My Son For The First Time)
Another first arrived on my doorstep this week. The looking-after-Tom-full-time and working-from-home model (whilst relying on my Mum for the days I have to be out) is no longer viable.
He needs more stimulation, and frankly, I need to get out more.
So it was time to find a crèche.
I made an appointment with one literally a hundred yards from my front door. If I lived in a palace, it would be no further than the east wing. (I live in an apartment block, so it’s not in the east wing. But it is just around the corner).
I half hoped it would be an awful place so I could retreat back into the cocoon of Him & Me, and tell people that I was still looking. But it was lovely. The people were lovely, the rooms were lovely, and the little ones who were already there were either terrifyingly well trained to look happy for visitors, or they were just happy. I suspect it was the latter. The place even smelled lovely.
You don’t just swan into crèches and find a space these days, so I knew I was lucky to find this little oasis a stone’s throw from home.
But as I confirmed we would be taking the place, I felt a lump rise in my throat.
Dear God, no! Don’t cry on the bloody registration day woman! You’re not even leaving him for a minute today!
I hope some of you will find this familiar and won’t think me a complete basket case. And those who are so far past these days — maybe as far away as waiting for Leaving Cert results — might remember these firsts with empathy and fondness.
So the form was filled out, and he will be starting just two days a week from September. Two.
He’s not being sent to Hogwarts on a one-way ticket, and I have a month to get used to the idea. It will be great for him and great for me, but I suspect on the first day, it will be me who needs the tissues.
But just for now I’m relieved we’re not waiting for Leaving Cert results.
Originally published at themword.ie on August 15, 2017.