Today was a big day for our little family. It was the day that we took Nugget to her future day care providers, for a trial run. You know, to make sure that she’d be fine hanging out with them for hours and hour and hours on end, spending time around a multitude of other kids right around her age and developmental range, being cared for by people who aren’t her parents. Naturally, this experience did fill HawtWife and I with some dread, because, well, for the last three and a half months, she’s pretty much been near us 24-7. Sure, we’ve had a couple of babysitting experiences, but, for the most part, Nugget has had one or both of her parents nearby.
Apparently, my daughter did absolutely awesome. Now, this may be because she was only separated from us for about an hour, or it may be that she’s just incredibly well-adjusted, social, and is already trying to figure out how to not only interact with, but rule over, the other babies at the day care, but she was apparently nothing to worry about.
In fact, while we were still around, getting both ourselves and Nugget acclimated to her surroundings, she pretty much spent the whole time trying to absorb as much information as possible. Clearly, she was not planning an escape of any sort, as she was fairly content. Instead, she seemed to be trying to sort out which of the other little ones she would become friends with first. I didn’t notice any direct flirting, but, well, at her age, just about every look seems a little bit coy and flirty, so I might have missed a few things.
One of the biggest things that we’ve been afraid of with regards to leaving her at daycare, and something that has put a bit of a slow-down on our efforts to get adult date nights, is her seeming lack of desire to take her meals from a bottle. Apparently, she heard the old Smuckers slogan somewhere, and just inserted “Mom” in place of the brand name. Because, well, if you’ve met HawtWife, you know it HAS to be good. Anyway, Nugget has, due to her desire to not get bottle-fed, adapted an interesting defense mechanism.
She’ll start out hungry. Sometimes, the hunger is an overwhelming force, making her stork bite turn bright red, which then flows through to the rest of her face. Most of the time, she’s just clearly feeling peckish, which might lead to real tears, but no worries about her turning into a Red Hulkbaby. During this time, whoever is watching her (most often, me, but that’s going to shift dramatically soon), attempts to give her a bottle to help fill the pit in her stomach (and, apparently, lower legs). She’ll put up a fight, clearly not wanting anything to do with this plastic abomination. Eventually, she’ll come around to realize that there is indeed the food she’s used to inside the bottle, albeit through a different delivery method, and she’ll take just enough to take the edge off. At which point, she’ll move into the true defensive mechanism in her baby brain, and she’ll pass right out. I’ve seen her do this too many times to assume that it’s accidental. And, while an interesting ploy, I’m not really sure it’s going to work out for her long-term, when she isn’t around HawtWife for over eight hours per day.
So either she’ll take the bottle, or I’ll end up with the most well-rested child in the history of ever. It’s probably a good thing I don’t really sleep a lot at night.