Shortly after getting up today, I realized that it's been a week since I've posted. I've noticed that before; after a Blogfest, I seem to take a bit of a breather. Not that they take a lot out of me, but I guess that all the reading involved afterwards, and the subsequent Following (and being Followed – thank you kindly!) is more time-consuming.
If I'm not posting, odds are that I've gotten caught-up in Life Happens. Nothing extraordinary, nothing tragic, just the day-to-day stuff. This week, however, there's been a bit of a cloud hanging over the house. Next week, after Labour Day, my sweet wife is going back to work. By Gar, it's been a year already! And boy-howdy, is she ever excited about it! If you've got a moment, I can lay it on even thicker.
In preparation, we've been leaving Calli with the 'sitter for half-days on Thursdays. We figure that an acclimatization period was wise, so it isn't such a shock to her system when it becomes three days a week (Gramma takes her on Mondays, and I have Tuesdays off). All was going well, until Thursday night (about 1:30 AM), she woke up in a tizzy. Then, again on Friday night, another nocturnal tantrum. Either she's getting separation anxiety, or the new teeth coming in are giving her grief. Sadly, her language skills aren't up to giving us a clear answer on the trouble that wakes her. On Saturday, we had the 'sitter and her family over for a BarBQ, because it would help Calli to get used to them, and they're just good people, and fun to spend an afternoon with. The day of cleaning and yard work was nearly enough to put me to sleep right there at the grill, but it's all worth it to flex our hospitality muscles and enjoy friendly company.
Has anyone out there had to start daycare for a 1-year-old? Can you enlighten me as to what kind of distress we're in for? I'm aware that kids are a lot more resilient than we tend to give them credit for, but I'm wondering what kind of misery our house has in store.