Yesterday was Day Three of my plan. And? Perfect. AGAIN.
Friends, words cannot adequately express the enormity of my surprise (along with the surprise of every single person who has known my child for longer than a week.) And while I am absolutely DELIGHTED at this flip-of-the-switch turnabout, I am leery and cynical and mistrusting by nature. I'm waiting for the other shoe to drop (read: waiting for this kid to finally get hep to the jive and let me have it.)
Let me refresh your memory regarding the details of my plan (don't roll your eyes, it's impolite). I was taking my morning fast-walks and THEN going to the gym, a mere half-hour before nap-time. Just to lift one body part [with the speed of a road-runner, beep beep zip BANG] with the quickness before going in to rescue her from her torture.
But there's been NOTHING. Not one day of crying. Even after she's spent upwards of 20 minutes there.
SO.
Today (day 4) I decided to [put her little ass to the test] see if we were in some kind of alternate day-care universe or if she really was making progress. We didn't go on our usual morning walk. I decided since [I'm sore as hell from the jogging and the lifting] it was a 'rest day' for the weights, I'd just skip the outside walk and try to do a whole cardio session (40 min + 5 min cool down on a recumbent bike).
And it turns out?
She really seems to be making progress.
She was in that Kid's Club for almost FIFTY MINUTES. The woman said that she started to 'fret' a little after about 35 minutes or so.
When I got there she smiled and hugged me, crawled into the little baby room, took a box of toys off the shelf and continued playing for 10 more minutes. And trust me, when you're used to your eardrums bleeding with the volume of the screaming that never ends? A little fret is a walk in the fucking park.
Or, er, a bike ride in the gym.
