Met with the daycare lady today, to see if we all liked each other.
I’ve been so relieved, my to do list piling up and lots of exciting things happening and sheer frustration about not being able to do any of them to the best of my ability.
A weight off my shoulders.
And she was lovely, and she had not one, but three days, so Grumpy and I discussed a second day and which would be best for me maximising my time and all the rest of it.
We looked around, listened to her information, met some others in her care, worked it all out and filled out the appropriate forms. Even Chippie (once he woke) seemed to acclimatise relatively quickly.
It was then that it hit me – WHAM! That damned Mother Guilt.
Having had a terrible experience when attending uni when Monkey Boy was a baby with the most horrible and un-called for comment by others (and being called some nasty things) that all came back.
Of course, that all counters the Mother Guilt I’ve been feeling, about not doing stuff with him, like puzzles and playdoh and painting.
I think my head may very well explode.
Where is the wine? And the person who gets to make all the hard decisions?
I want an agent, damn it!