Preschool in Context

Lilly’s had five days of preschool already — the first five school days of her life — and yet I’ve written nary a word about it. At first it was a coping mechanism. Dwelling on what I was thinking and feeling as I dropped Lilly off those first few days would certainly result in tears. Then when I got through the first week without any major tears, and more importantly, Lilly did also, I was afraid to jinx our good fortune and easy transition by writing about it. Now we’ve had good days and bad days and I’m ready to talk.

Lilly is, in fact, doing great. The first week she went into preschool with all smiles. All but the first day, when she became a bit overwhelmed by the child distribution system known as carpool and the screamer next to her in line, she came out happy saying she had fun with her friends and teachers.

As everyone warned, the transition was tougher on me than on Lilly. I was worried about the separation, but I was more upset at the thought that for the first time I would not know every little thing that happened to her that day. It’s the luxury (and sometimes curse) of being a SAHM that you are there for every minute of every day — every giggle, every first, every diaper explosion, every tantrum. Spoiled as I am, I have gotten very used to having all of these events as the context for the random things that come out of Lilly’s mouth. I know that when she talks about “the giraffe book” she means “Good Night Moon” because we found the tiny giraffe on the bookshelf in “the great green room” that day. And when she says Mommy made “gorilla food” for dinner, I know she’s just noticed the chopped onions and is thinking about what we saw the gorillas eat at the zoo. And when she walks around the house calling things “fucky” I know it’s not that she has a foul mouth, but that she heard me say “funky” and just can’t seem to get that n-k sound down. So, really, at the end of the school day, I’ve just been afraid I won’t have all the little bits of details that give me context.

We’ve now finished two full weeks of school and thankfully this hasn’t become a major issue yet. Yes, she’s two years old and trying to get a clear explanation of what she did in the last three hours is like asking a Baby Boomer what they were doing in the Sixties. The answer is random bits of memory, some true, some clearly conjured in the imagination. But most days I feel like I’ve received enough information between Lilly and her teachers to know generally what she’s done and how she feels about it. Perhaps most importantly, I completely underestimated the soothing effect of pride. I am extremely proud of my little girl for being confident and independent enough to tackle the first week of school without a meltdown. She’s much stronger than I was at that age. It makes me feel good to know that she’s walking into school expecting to have a good day and that makes all my other worries fade away.

And if any doubts were lingering in my mind about my role in Lilly’s life now that she is a “big girl” in preschool, they were put to rest the first day back this week. Perhaps a little stunned that this whole school thing wasn’t over after putting in a solid 3 days last week, Lilly went into school Monday with her bottom lip tightly curled under and tears welling in her eyes. It was the toughest goodbye yet, but by all accounts Lilly had a great day. After pick-up we had a picnic lunch and chatted about her day. After a series of questions from me about the songs they sang, the crafts they made and the friends she played with, Lilly stopped answering, looked me in the eyes, took a deep breath and said, “I missed you.”

Do you hear that? That’s the sound of my heart melting.

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