Babygirl's first Christmas program was tonight.
She's 14 months old, so we weren't expecting an Away in a Manger solo or anything. Her teachers were excited, and we've never had an opportunity to go to anything to see her.
So we were excited.
And apprehensive...since the program started at 7 and she is ALWAYS nestled safely in her bed at 8. The final hour has the most nuclear potential.
She loves her teacher. LOVES her. She will leap out of my arms into her teacher's every morning. With a quick glance and wave in my face...even if we adults are still talking...she send me on my way.
This is the only reason I am as OK with daycare as I am. She loves it there.
I returned to the sanctuary of the church in which the daycare is held (apparently, the holy water is refrigerated for nights like tonight). They had a slide show of the babies playing with Christmas music.
Kryptonite to Superman...again. (Attributed to 24% PMS, 76% sentimental schmuckness)
I hardly made it into my seat after dropping Babygirl off in her classroom before I started bawling. Like unable to speak crying.
I gathered my shit in time to see Babygirl's favorite teacher carry her to stage.
Tears: Round two.
They sang a song. Our camera short circuited on the dim lighting, so I was able to focus my attention on the blurry imaged camera (and not yelling "FUCKING CAMERA" at the top of my lungs) and the tears subsided.
Then as the baby/toddler section was over, Babygirl's teacher thanked us for allowing her to watch our children every day. Even on bad days. Because she loves them.
That's why it's ok to leave my heart in the hands of another 5 days a week.