I'm getting things ready for Morrigan.
We went and picked (she picked) some cute sheets.
They're white with animal faces on them.
We've got our bottles, name written on them, waiting for me to put the date and amount of milk.
We've got a brand new blue dinosaur bag that she picked out.
We need to get the spare outfit.
The daycare clothes.
Hubby doesn't get it.
A lot of people don't, I think.
Especially when it's not your first. People expect sad with your first. Not your third.
The daycare is lovely (and I'm not just saying that because one of my readers works there!)
They're super supportive, a lovely philosophy and attitude toward teaching and children.
Morrigan loves it. We've been there 4 times in the last 10 days to see how she goes.
The last time we were there she just crawled off without me. Not a care in the world.
Not a glance back at me to check I was still there.
She glanced back, but to the room leader.
Which is a great sign – it means she trusts her, but still… she's not looking for me to keep her safe.
She just seems so little compared to the others.
I know they were both in childcare at this age but it doesn't seem that way.
Tomorrow I'll be keeping myself distracted. Finishing my uni assessment. Eating lunch slowly. Maybe I'll even mop the floor.
And I'll count down the minutes until I pick her up again.