I didn't expect it to upset her so much. Most kids like it, don't they?

Her mom had walked in and plopped the girl on my lap. No wave, kiss or hug, she said: That's Kira. and walked out.

I'm sitting in a pre-school classroom, 1/2 an hour before we're scheduled to close, and this a beautiful 2-year-old's mom has gone to discuss registration with the daycare director. Kira's never been away before, and of the three teachers in this class, I'm the one who deals with separation anxiety and new children.

Hi, Kira. I'm Jane. Would you like to see the toys we keep in this room?
Nada. I get a solemn stare, unblinking. I'm used to this sort of thing, kind of, even though the kiddies are usually wailing instead of staring impassively. I prattle on, making calming small talk to the tense body perched on my lap.
Over there, in that corner, we have our painting easels. See how Josh uses the colors?

I ease into a standing position and lead Kira around the room. She moves stiffly, like a windup toy, following me. I sit in the block corner, where Ariella is making a sprawling metropolis of bright foam bricks. Kira just watches. Sara, who's the most verbal and friendly of the group, reaches up and pinches Kira's nose.
I got her nose, Miss Jane!
I gasp in mock horror, clap my hand over my face.

Kira starts to wail, loud, scary, I'd never heard a toddler in such hysterics before.

Give it back! Put her nose back! GIVE IT BACK!

Needless to say, her mother decided the whole daycare thing wouldn't work for her precious. I can't say. Kira might have learned to smile a little sooner.