I have been a stay-at-home mama since my three year old was born. Until today she has never official been “away” from me, except for staying with her grandparents.
When she was two we started a gymnastics class. I was allowed to stay in the room until she was comfortable (which took weeks). And then sit in the hallway with the door open. And then finally sit in the hallway with the door shut, but watching through the big observation window.
I’ve always been where she could see me. Although at gymnastics now she doesn’t often need to look for me. It’s just nice to know she can.
Today was her second day of toddler play group, a part of the services she is receiving from our school district to help her out with speech development and social skills. The first time we went I stayed in the room with her. But part of the goal with this class is as a preschool transition piece.
In other words, time for mama to back off a little.
(SIGH. Why is this so hard, you guys?)
Her lip quivered as I assured her that I would be back soon, but she willingly went with her speech therapist and I slowly backed out of the room. She wasn’t doing anything to make it hard for me to leave. Why was it so hard to leave?
I walked in slow motion out, hovered outside the door, and then crept into the room next door that happened to be an empty break room. I sat and pretended to read my book while reassuring myself that the sound of her screaming for me was just in my imagination. (In hindsight, I’m fairly certain it was in my imagination.)
For the first twenty minutes I distracted myself to keep from walking past the room to check on her. I texted a friend that I knew I could count on for emotional support and reassurance that this was, in fact, a great and important experience for her even if it was challenging at first.
I went to the bathroom and back to the break room. I pretended to read some more and maybe even calmed down enough to ACTUALLY read a few pages but then for the last fifteen minutes I got distracted by watching the clock every thirty seconds waiting until I could go get her.
And when the door opened she skipped out chattering about how much fun school was.
And I felt like crying. Mostly out of relief. And pride. But also a little bit because this is the first of many moments of letting go. That is the point, right? If we do our jobs as parents then eventually they are just fine without us. I’m at the starting line when it comes to letting go.
And truthfully, I don’t feel ready for all the letting go I’m going to have to do. This morning was freakin hard. And it shouldn’t have been this hard. I didn’t even leave the building for Pete’s sake. It was ONE HOUR. I’m not sending her off to war or to another state for college or another country or even to full day kindergarten, you guys. In the grand scheme of things, this was NOTHING.
And still, it was hard.
Probably, it will always be hard. My oldest went to daycare from 12 weeks old until preschool. Was it hard? Heck yes it was hard. Looking back, I don’t know how I did it. But I did. And after a while I didn’t think about how hard it was anymore. And then it was time for preschool. And when that wasn’t hard anymore it was time for kindergarten. Eventually I will look back on this and forget how hard it was. And then I will have to let go all over again.
Parenting, man.