When my son was younger, he used to adore going to daycare. However, one morning, he abruptly awoke and refused to go back. At first, I believed it was just a passing phase, but what I found out has left me feeling shaken.
Johnny, who is three years old, is my only child, and I am a single mother. Daycare was his favorite activity up until a few weeks ago. On the other hand, that abruptly changed one day.
Over time, he got more and more reluctant to leave. Up until I saw the facts for myself, I assumed it was nothing more than a temper tantrum. Johnny would wake up thrilled and loudly humming melodies that were completely meaningless whenever he had to go to daycare.
He would pack his backpack with miniature action figures that he was not permitted to carry, and then he would dash down the stairs while yelling, “Let’s go, Mommy!” He would almost drag me out of the house without my consent. Each morning was like a new and exciting experience for him. Nevertheless, if I’m being really honest, I couldn’t help but feel a little bit envious of the fact that my son couldn’t wait to get away from me and spend time with other people.
Despite this, I refused to hold it against him. I cherished the fact that he was in a secure environment that he couldn’t wait to return to. Then, however, on a Monday morning that was completely unplanned, everything shifted.
At the time, I was in the process of pouring my coffee. What a scream – a genuine one! that causes your chest to tighten up and become rigid.
After dropping my mug, which resulted in it being shattered, I sprinted up the stairs two steps at a time! Johnny was sobbing uncontrollably and hugging his blanket with both hands as he huddled in the corner of his room. His face was red and drenched with tears.
I quickly knelt down and inspected him over as my heart was beating. Baby, what exactly took place? Does it pain you?
To get ready to depart for daycare, my darling, we need to get something ready. “No, Mommy, no!” he yelled out as he gazed up at me with eyes that were gigantic and filled with panic. Do not force me to go!
I was perplexed and blinked. “Where are you going?”
It was as he attempted to cling to my knees that he cried out, “Daycare!” His voice broke on the word as he cried out. Please don’t force me to do that!
While I was holding him and rocking him till he became peaceful, I spoke soft things to him that did not feel like they were enough. I thought to myself that perhaps it was a nightmare. Either that, or he was very exhausted.
Is it true that toddlers have moods? My thoughts went through my head as I dismissed it. However, that was not the only day about it.
It was the following morning that he refused to get out of bed! As soon as I brought up the subject of childcare, his lip would start to shake. In the wee hours of Wednesday, he pleaded with tears to stay away.
Same thing happens each and every morning. There were screams of desperation, shaking, and despair. At the end of the day on Thursday, I was worried and fatigued.
Dr. Adams, our physician, was the one I phoned. In a gentle tone, she stated, “It’s normal.” This age group is prone to separation anxiety.
It is at its pinnacle right now.”
I responded by saying, “But it doesn’t feel normal.” “This kind of whining doesn’t feel like his typical whining. Fear is what it feels like. Fear in its purest form”
She paused, most likely because she believed that I was being too worried.
“Be sure to keep a close check on it. The possibility exists that he is only going through a developmental phase. If only I could have believed her.
Indeed, I did it. And then Friday arrived. It was almost late for me to get to work, and he was crying out once again in the hallway.
I’m sorry to put it out there, but I completely lost it. Take a break! I made a yell.
“You are required to attend a daycare!”
It was the sound of my own voice that caused me to judder. To make matters even worse, Johnny paused in the middle of his sob, as if he were a deer caught in headlights. At no point did he move or blink.
Despite his shivering and wide-eyed expression, my poor son merely stared at me. I was finally able to come to terms with the fact that Johnny wasn’t being stubborn; my infant was afraid, and I sank to my knees in front of him. As I wrapped my arms around him, I apologized and whispered, “I’m sorry.”
“Dearest, I’m curious as to why you no longer enjoy going to daycare.”
In the beginning, he did not respond.
He kept his gaze fixed on the ground instead, and then he whispered something so softly that I almost caught it. What he said was, “No lunch.” I beg you, Mommy, to not have lunch.”
I became numb. Is it lunch?
The pit of my stomach sank. “There’s no lunch?” I stated it once again. After giving me a simple nod, he buried his face in my chest as if he were embarrassed.
My stomach began to turn. It was obvious to me that he was not a fussy eater; he was just a modest eater. I never forced him to eat when he wasn’t hungry, and he never forced himself to eat when he wasn’t hungry.
With all of this fear, what could lunch possibly have to do with it? That day, I made the decision to keep him at home. I was fortunate enough to have Kenny, the teenage son of my neighbor, available, and he enthusiastically accepted the task of babysitting.
Johnny had a deep affection for Kenny, and the two of them got along like a house on fire. On the next morning, which was Saturday, I had some work that I needed to catch up on. Additionally, Johnny’s daycare was open on weekends, which enabled parents to run errands or get some relaxation during the week.
Consequently, I experimented with something new, something that was more mild. At that moment, I lowered myself to his level and looked him in the eye. The promise that I made was, “I will pick you up before lunch today.” “There is no need for you to remain for it.
Is that okay? Still sniffling, he paused for a moment before finally nodding his head. Over the course of the entire week, it was the first time that he had let me to buckle him into his car seat without crying.
When he was dropped off, he did not rush to the door as he had in the past. He looked at me instead, his eyes large and glassy, and they were filled with pleading. Up to the very last second, his tiny small hand was firmly gripping mine.
His expression, which was one of complete and utter desperation, nearly broke me. My attention was riveted on the clock for the subsequent three hours. My daycare was waiting for me when I left work early at 11:30 a.m., packed up my belongings, and drove there.
At mealtimes, parents were not permitted to enter the building. On the other hand, the walls of the eating room were built with glass panels, so I went around the building and peered in through the side door. My blood began to boil as a result of what I saw!
When I was looking around the room, I put my face against the window. As soon as I was finally able to see what was going on with my son, I let out a loud gasp:
“There is no way!”
At the very end of a long lunch table, my dear Johnny was seated with his head bowed toward the table. I was unable to identify the elderly woman who was sitting next to him.
She did not have a staff badge on her person, and her gray hair was tied back into a tight bun. The look on her face was serious, even unpleasant. She took Johnny’s spoon in her hands and pushed it with all her might toward his mouth, pressing it firmly on his lips.
Despite the fact that he turned his head and grieved in silence, tears continued to fall freely, she did not stop! “You are not going to leave until that plate is completely empty,” she reprimanded. Yes, that was it.
I opened the door with such force that it banged all the way into the wall! Several members of the staff jumped with joy. Dear Lady!
You have
