Would you rather...

You know the game, right?

Take two relatively unpleasant alternatives, and debate which one you would rather be faced with: Would you rather eat a cricket or a worm? Would you rather be blind or deaf? Would you rather have a great job but make no money, or have a lousy job and make tons of money? You get the idea...

Today I was faced with a real-life "would you rather" of sorts: Would I rather leave Monkey at day care each day in tears, missing his Mommy and not yet trusting his new teacher, or would I rather leave a happy Monkey, without a care in the world, banging off the walls? This time, however, there was a twist - I didn't get to decide, as Monkey has gone and made the decision for me!

Beginning about three weeks ago, it was all about Option A - Despite being gradually transitioned to his new room, Monkey still didn't have the same sense of security with his new teachers that he'd had in the infant room, and would all but cling to my leg when I tried to leave him for the day, leaving me in tears in the car after I would tear myself away. But then, suddently, last week, he chose Option B.

I didn't fully appreciate the switch at the time - indeed, I didn't know that there was an Option B, so to speak. All I knew was that when I set Monkey down on the floor to play last Thursday, after missing a day of day care due to a weekend trip, he looked for the briefest of moments like he was going to scrunch up his face and cry, but then he got distracted by a toy, and that was that. I was free to leave - see ya later - hasta la vista. It's as if he forgot I was there. My feelings were almost hurt for a moment, but this was what it was like in the infant roomo mere weeks earlier, and I knew, despite my hurt pride, that this was a good thing.

What I didn't know was that it was coming at a price. OK, well perhaps this is all coincidental, but with Monkey's increased happiness and confidence came a sudden string of accident reports. Out of the blue, he got THREE reports in two days, after getting maybe two EVER in the infant room, once when he was crawling around and bonked his head into a mirror, and the other I don't even recall... Now, suddenly, he's walking toys into walls and getting fat lips on the rebound, acquiring mystery bite marks on his arm (self or other-inflicted - it's anybody's guess), and, here's one to really make me proud - climbing on (and then falling off of) the lunch table. And you wonder how he got the name Monkey...

Now, I must reluctantly admit that there has been one other SMALL change during this same time period, which, if you've read my few entries to date, you already know - Monkey recently started walking. So I suspect that his impressive new injury rate is not so much a factor of him choosing Option B as it is him growing up, exploring, and learning (hopefully!) from his mistakes! But as I drove home today, two injury reports in hand, and Monkey happily jabbering away in the back seat, I couldn't help but wonder if, given the choice, I'd have kept Option A for just a wee bit longer...