Today is one of those monumental days I think all moms look forward to, yet somehow dread at the same time. Today I sent my baby girl to preschool.
Preschool means that for the first time your child waddles into class for a day of assumed loving support but without you. It’s the beginning of a journey that parents take on good faith.
She poses in front of the door for a quick 'first day' picture as she tries to finish off her breakfast and off we go. I feel the tears begin to stream down my face as we cross the street. More so I feel guilty that I didn’t listen to my husband when he said, ‘she is still very young for a school’. Glancing at her, I was thankful for the sight: her little hands holding mine firmly and a smile on her face, although a reminder to me of how young she is still.
Part of me wonders how this could be happening in the first place. Is it really possible that I’m sending my daughter to become a little person who wears a uniform? To school? Grow up?
I think every mom who sends their kid off to school for the first time gets a free pass to be sad, confused, guilty or even a full-blown wreck. Before even starting school, I visited the beautiful classroom so many times before hand to see if it has all those things that will keep my baby happy. On the orientation day, I stood outside and waited, listening for her to miss me, which would mean I’d get to take her home, or atleast my husband presumed that way.
Surely it will be different the second time around. It still feels new though, the love and fear all tucked into one big event.
Some day,I am hopeful, we’ll both cheerfully wave to one another, and as I watch my heart walk into the classroom, I’ll tell her how happy I am that she’s starting a new adventure and I’ll truly mean it.
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