bigger ain't better

Two weeks ago we were approached by Britton's daycare teacher about transitioning Britton to the 1-year-old room early. Ms. E goes on, "As you know, Britton's really smart. I mean, really smart." [Yes, I do know, but keep telling me.] "And she is eating table foods, and doesn't seem as interested in a morning nap, and is almost walking, so we think she's ready." And the hub and I were excited that she was progressing, and of course it's always nice when someone else notices that your kid is awesome. Since then, Britton has been spending more and more time each day in the 1-year-old room, and we get reports from both rooms that she is doing great and adjusting well.




Like even today, when some kid tripped on her on the playground and she got a goose egg on her forehead. But she got over it and played and even had music time. And the music teacher was so impressed that Britton paid close attention to the music. Of course, the teacher doesn't know that the hub uses bad harmonica music to distract Britton from her teething pain, and I make up songs like a crazy person about anything under the sun, set to the tune of bad 1980s television shows, but hey. Music's in her blood.



And she likes these new foods they feed her, like pineapple, and quesadillas, goldfish crackers, and tator tot casserole (whatever that is), and apple cinnamon strudel. Unfortunately, some other "favorites" have cropped up on her daily sheet, like chocolate chip bread, chocolate cheerios, pizza, and chicken nuggets. We're not so excited about that.



I'm happy she's doing well. But. Ahhh, the "but" I've put off for two weeks now. The "but" I ignored because I could, because I don't pick her up so I never see the new classroom, because I still drop her off to the same classroom where I know the teachers and the other babies and the routine and the toys.



Oh, it hit me hard this afternoon when I picked her up from the new classroom - the other children, mouths filled with teeth, waddling and walking around, "talking" in their baby voices... she isn't in the quiet baby room, with soft pastels and whispering voices and bottles and blankies and swaddling and swings and bouncy seats and tiny diapers.

But she can't stay in that room because she's not a baby anymore.