Sam started his new daycare today and, already, he is doing much better. He loves Miss Cynthia and I'm sure that's due in no small part to the fact that she took him to MacDonald's today. Her comments to Owen when he picked him up:
"Your boy can eat!" (He ate a whole Big Mac for her. Never mind the fact that he won't eat ANY meat for Owen and I...at all...period.)
"Your boy can dance!" (He loves to dance all day, every day. Music optional. Clapping mandatory on all fronts.)
So Sam is officially out of a center-based daycare and back in the home and it is a welcome change for all of us. He has made a new friend with whom he is just about inseparable and, more importantly, he didn't cry all day like he did at his last place. Most importantly, they don't make him go 6 hours between diaper changes.
Tonight, we don't go to bed dreading the moment when we push the Center doors open and he becomes the human equivalent of a barnacle on our legs, at which point we would normally pick him up and carry him into his room (because he refused to walk) and then hand him, a now snotty mess of tears and screeches, to a woman who doesn't effectively communicate to any one of the three of us that this bothers her in the least. This also means that I will no longer begin my day wiping the tears from my eyes as the Center door closes behind me.