My Hannah got bit for the first time at daycare yesterday and my heart literally feels like it’s being ripped out of my chest.
In my head, I know things like this are going to happen. I never dealt with it with Madison. She was home with me until she was 2 and then she went to a church preschool 2 days/week and we were lucky enough to never have to deal with her being bit or hurt.
And even though I knew this day was coming, I was blissfully ignorant and secretly hopeful that I’d never have to sign an incident report saying I acknowledge that my child was bit by another one. All I can do is keep thinking about how much it must have hurt and when she was crying and looking for comfort she didn’t have me. Luckily she had the loving arms of two wonderful daycare teachers that I absolutely adore (and so does Hannah).
But I wasn’t there.
I always thought I’d be the most sad about missing the “firsts” while Hannah was at daycare. Luckily, I got to be home for most of them but there will still be some I miss. Last night I realized that it hurts more to not be there for her when she needs me. I want to be the one to kiss all the boo-boos and sing the songs that distract her and make her laugh.
For the first time it really sank in that my girls spend more awake hours per week away from me rather than with me. Oh, my heart.