I am sitting down after coming home with my husband and son from our first visit to his new creche. The place is bright and well light, thought out almost to the point of bureaucracy but not too much, and staff that seem willing to jump through hoops to keep children and parents happy. Still the shock of being removed from my child for eight plus hours a day is a physical one, and I’m trying very hard not to cry.

In the way of things, my strange brain reminded me of the adoptive parents of Baby Ann. They had taken care of her for three years and sought to have the adoption finalised. However, the birth parents of Baby Ann got married, and as the constitution prevents any granting of adoption when the parents are married, she was given up. What on earth was that like? What was that like, that last morning, when they got up, showered, dressed, make up, gathered up her toys and things and left with her? Parents routinely put their children first, so they would have maintained a cheerful facade to her as they gathered up feeding things, beloved toys, car seats, bibs and chairs. How could they get the strength to do that? How could they return to the house, now empty of her, with the reminder of their loss? When there is a death there is the force of society’s sympathy at your door. Where is the help for  parents in such circumstances? The scrap of research I’ve done on this one indicates that the issue of Baby Ann is not straightforward. None the less, the loss felt by the adoptive parents has my sympathies.

There’s a voice at my shoulder that is sneering; how typical of me to take a perfectly normal situation and extend it to something dramatic. Personally I would call it empathy for others, and a healthy ability to make comparisons. As for my little man, he was nervous but able to enjoy his time there.  We’ll be doing it again on Monday for two hours, until he is there for the full time I’m at work. Right now he’s snoozing away, unconcerned by anything; as it should be.

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