As I write this, I have just dropped my daughter off for her first full day of preschool. And I do mean full day; unless the school calls for me to come get her (she’s been sick all week, and though she claims to feel fine, she still looks sick), I won’t see her again until this afternoon.
I wanted to homeschool to avoid this exact pit in my stomach. I’ve already texted her teacher. And keep obsessively checking my phone to see if the ringer is on.
I’m supposed to be adulting right now. We got back from Illinois yesterday evening, ate dinner, and immediately got ready for bed. There is laundry to do, a stack of mail to deal with, and an inbox raging out of control with bills and job postings and freelancing emails. And I have a sinus infection, Kai woke me at 3:30 a.m., my tummy is rumbling in a most distressing way (drinking the water in my hometown always seems to unhinge my digestive system, and even though I bring bottled water, I can never completely avoid drinking the local l’eau), and it’s all I can do not to drip all over my keyboard.
Interestingly enough, what I really want right now is to go talk to my mom. My kid’s first day of school makes me want my mommy. How must Anya be feeling?
And now I’m misty all over again.
Out of the blue, Anya said she wanted to walk to school today. We put on comfy shoes, grabbed our umbrellas (the forecast is calling for rain), and opened the front door to a gentle shower.
I don’t know about her, but I don’t feel well enough to walk three blocks in the rain, so I drove. I put the hang tag on my rear view like a total n00b and got her there in record time; apparently the trick is to leave an hour before school starts, not 30 minutes. Was there and back in 5 minutes.
It’s a huge letdown, being the parent on the first day of school. You get all of the first-day jitters, but then you just go home. You don’t meet new friends or do arts and crafts or play games or sing songs. You come home to a mountain of laundry (and an empty laundry soap container!), a sticky car, clutter all over the kitchen, and a sleeping baby/Daddy on the couch. You come home to a pile of responsibilities, but no motivation with which to address them.
It’s too quiet in here. If I had work to do, I could do it uninterrupted. Why didn’t I let her sit with me while I worked last week? I miss her bony butt digging into my lap and her hair tickling my nose as I try to type around her.
Oh, there’s good stuff about her being big. I’m excited by the girl-bonding possibilities the future holds. But I also buckled her into her car seat this morning though she is perfectly capable of doing it herself, and I got her back out when I dropped her off at school, while the other parents in line frowned undercaffeinated frowns at me.
I’m not ready for her to not be my baby anymore.