One day down. Sam and I survived, and luckily we both had fairly good days.
I relinquished drop off duties to Mike. This way my warped mind didn't envision my kids at daycare, but rather hanging out with their ever-so sweet and ultra-cool dad. Reality sunk in when I decided to swing through for a visit. While I loved seeing his face, I was doing fine, emotionally, until I walked in his room.
He had just finished a bottle. I instantly scooped him up and took up residency in the rocking chair. Sam and I spent 30 precious minutes just staring at each other. He generously gave me lots of beaming smiles, and the more he smiled, the larger the lump in my throat grew. I had to fight hard to contain the tears. I knew if one tear fell the ugly cry wasn't far behind, and no one wants or needs to see that. As I held him, I tried to play the positive internal monogolue that each day will get easier, that he is in good hands, he will eventually adjust and thrive in this new environment, etc. I half believed myself, at least enough to prevent me from grabbing him and running out the door with no real destination in mind.
When I stood up to leave, Sam made sure I couldn't forget him as he ended up sharing part of his lunch with my new cute brown sweater. I carried a piece of him and that lingering smell for the rest of the day. Thankfully tomorrow is Friday.