Pre-preschool

Recently, I embarked on one of my most challenging parental experiences to date: The search for the perfect daytime childcare.

(Note the avoidance of the word "daycare." I don't know why but "daycare" has such a negative connotation for me, and many people, that I find it easier to call it something else. But more on that later.)

You may be wondering how I have avoided this daytime childcare quest so long considering Lydia is almost 18 months old and, as many of you know, I work part time. The answer lies in the heroic and unfailing generosity of my husband’s mother and grandmother. There are very few concerns that crop up in the mind of even the most protective mother when you know your child is in the care of someone who truly loves her as their own. However, recent circumstances beyond anyone’s control dictated the need for a change that has thrust me into a world of newfound empathy for so many other parents who have dealt with this before. After all, like a quest for the elusive Holy Grail, it seems there is no such thing as perfect childcare.

My goal then was to find something incredibly close.

After spending several days allowing my mind to wander through the jungle of “what ifs?” and horror stories that seem to readily fall from people’s lips when they learn you’re looking into daycare possibilities (as if the self-inflicted guilt wasn’t punishment enough) I once again found strength in the support of family and friends, this time in the form of references.

One suggestion seemed particularly promising: a woman in my neighborhood who runs a full-time childcare facility in her home. A preliminary meeting with her revealed this is not just a daycare. This woman has a structured program that seemed more like a preschool for younger children with regular activities, lessons, meals, naps, plenty of outdoor playtime and more.

Sort of a pre-preschool. It sounded promising.

Thorough research on my end that included several comfort-seeking phone calls to my mother and sister, a multitude of questions for the care provider and for her past clients revealed nothing but glowing endorsements. Additionally, I popped in twice unannounced and was impressed by how clean and orderly things were, how well behaved the kids seemed and how her home didn't smell like a daycare, in fact it smelled like freshly baked bread one day and something else so delicious the next time that I wanted to stay for lunch. Could it be this harrowing decision had a solution that was so… perfect?

The jury is still out on an official verdict since I haven’t actually left Lydia in her care. But tomorrow I will and while there will undoubtedly be tears shed the first few times (both Lydia's and mine) deep down I am excited to see how she grows and develops as she interacts with other children in this “pre-preschool” setting that I cannot provide in my home.

By the way, I realize referring to this new daycare situation as “pre-preschool” is nothing more than a euphemism, but I don’t care. I’ll do anything to make it easier to walk out that door.