Snowflake told me this morning he did not want to go to Little Explorers Camp. I told him it would be a blast, he was going to make a visor and do gymnastics. He said nothing but I knew he wasn't buying it.
We got to the Y and everything was fine. I gave them some more sunscreen, told him I loved him with a smooch and left. Half way down the hall I realize his backpack is still over my shoulder. I go back to hang it on his hook.
That's when it started. He came running to me, clinging and started to cry. Meanwhile, the crew cut little toughies sat at the table eating french toast sticks staring at us, snickering in the way only a true brat can.
I swooped him up and said it would be okay, but told him he had to stay and they would take good care of him. His counselor then told me he did really well yesterday but cried from 11:30-1:00. The only thing they could do to comfort him was to rub his back.
As she's telling me this, he's wrapping himself around me like a lobster. I had to pry him away from me, hand him over to a girl he's met once and leave. It was heartbreaking for me.
I walked out of the room with his little tinfoil fingerpainting in hand and started to bawl. I felt sick and I still do. My eyes are welled up just writing about it. Instinctively I know in my very core that his place is with me. He is only three years old. THREE.
I can't stand those who blindly say that kids learn how to socialize by going to daycare. My conscience is not clear, but what can I do? I have no choice but to send him.
I hope this doesn't scar him. I'm sorry Snowflake.
