That's how Vivi felt about leaving her "brover" at Vacation Bible School yesterday morning. The waterworks started before we'd left the building, built up to a wail as we walked to the car, and had become an inconsolable kicking, screaming meltdown by the time I pulled out of the parking lot. Honestly? I felt about the same, I just handled myself slightly better. Slightly. Until I got on the phone with my mom, anyway, then I had a little breakdown of my own. School, you guys. My Bug. My baby! All by himself for a whole morning, all week long, with strangers who may not understand what he's asking for, with kids who may not share with him or want to be his friend or somehow otherwise bruise his vulnerable little heart that we've spent these four years protecting. I'm not sure if it made it harder or easier that he seemed truly excited to go. Apprehensive at first, as any not-quite 4 year old would be walking into a gymnasium full of new faces and new sounds and about 100 overexcited kids. But by the time we sat together for the opening announcements and prayers and met his teacher and made our way to his classroom door (which the teacher made very clear was the stopping point for the worried tagalong moms) ..... he slipped his little hand out of my hand and just ..... went. Blended into the little crowd and disappeared into the room. No fuss, no tears, no clinging to my leg. No looking back, even. Which, obviously, is good. But is it so wrong to admit it's also sad? Like, REALLY sad? That it felt like a big leap toward the goodbyes we'd have at real school, then summer camps, then college, then LEAVING ME FOREVER? That I really, truly, SERIOUSLY had to hold myself back after leaving the building from walking across the grass and peeking through the window to make sure he wasn't crying for me? I didn't, but oh, how I wanted to take one last look, reassure myself that he was okay in there. We won't even talk about how many times I checked my phone during the three hours he was gone, making sure it was still on and charged and nobody had left a frantic voice mail saying that he was crying and needed his mama.
Day two? Even smoother. The kicker was that when we arrived thirty minutes early to take him home (thanks to a sleep deprived little sister who terrorized the post office AND the grocery store and who clearly needed to get home for a nap NOW), he didn't even look that excited to see me. His buddy was sitting beside him at the crafts table and said "hey, dude, your mommy is here!" and he looked over his shoulder at me with this very-too-cool junior high schooler look like "oh, hey." Le sigh. But he did eventually get up, and hug me, and proudly show off the little rubber cross that he'd painstakingly glued shiny rocks onto and the look of pride on his little face, you guys, that he'd done this little project on his own at this big school place? The sweetest thing, ever.
It's a big step, this school stuff. The letting go. It's all very good, I know. He'll start real preschool as soon as we get to Colorado, and this is good practice. For him, a little, and for the very attached Vivi, clearly, but mostly for me. Because doing the very first school drop off thing THEN, when I'm postpartum hormonal and in a new and unfamiliar place and probably haven't slept more than three hours in three or four weeks? Would probably have been much worse. You know I would've done the window peep then, for sure.
hi! welcome to my blog, where i write about our life in durango, colorado. mostly i write about being a sahm to our three: anderson, vivian, and the newest addition, mabel gray (mg, mabes, etc.) yeah, three babies in just under four years. wheeeeeee! sometimes i write about stuff other than the mom stuff. like ... um ... okay, it's pretty much all about the mommyness up in here. i own it.