First Day of Preschool

So Eva went to preschool today and had a good time. She was content to play with the play kitchen and scoot over to the books (we'd visited the classroom a few times already) and even said "Bye, mama! See you!" when I said she was going to stay and play and I was going to go. Until my hand touched the doorknob to leave. She turbo-scooted across the floor with a whimper and a distressing expression. I offered some sort of soothing words, though in my rattled state I don't recall what they were. The classroom assistant said, "Go. It's OK. You can call us any time you need to." Whoosh. I closed the door behind me.

I walked down the hallway; searching for the nearest exit; blinking furiously. Every cell was tingling and I was trembling slightly. My chest felt curiously like it would both collapse inward and explode at the same time. As the cool outside air filled my lungs I thought, "I'm not far enough into my life to have a kid in school". By that, I meant, my memories of my childhood friends' parents were that they were adults. They had it all figured out. They didn't have the insecurities, doubt, and emotional turmoil we kids had. It's possible I was mislead by their taller stature and that some of them had life no more figured out than I did then. Than I do now.

I drove home in a fog. Mixed-emotion tears and a wry, proud smirk on my face. I had grand plans of an hour and some of yoga in a quiet house this morning. But a bladder infection, which assailed me last night and a mind full of words itching to get on paper put those plans on hold. Maybe tomorrow.

When I picked Eva up, two hours later, she seemed neither stricken by my absence nor reluctant to leave school. She chatted at me all the way home, about swings, trains, and backpacks. She was tired early this evening though has been fighting the sleepies. Her little brain a firestorm of synapses. Thus began our long journey through public school.

"Go ahead, mama. I'm ready for school".