I deftly load my younger daughter into the van and drive back to town, where we’d just come from a mere ten minutes ago. We park outside the preschool, a few spaces down so as not to be seen from the inside. I tiptoe stealth-like (think Mission Impossible), to a prime position at the window. I cautiously peep through the blinds and see… that everything is just fine with my four-year-old.
At least that’s how I’d envisioned my daughter’s first day of preschool. I’d probably have a frazzled morning, which would turn into a nerve-racked afternoon as I imagined my daughter’s introduction to the world of learning.
But really it’s not that I had fears for her, like she’d get caught picking a wayward boogie in the first few seconds and be branded for all her school days. Or that she’d trip going in the door (a classic move for both mom and daughter) and destroy the entire room in a domino-effect fashion. Because she’d be great, I knew deep down.
It was me I was worried about. We’d been at home together every day of her life. How would I adjust? How would I get through sending my first child to school? Yes, I knew it was for only three afternoons a week, but it meant kindergarten comes next, and every year after that is going to come faster and faster. And I can’t stop them.
Wasn’t it just recently that we brought her home from the hospital? She was so wee then, in need of help for everything. How is it that she’s grown and met all those developmental stages? And now, seemingly overnight, she has blossomed into a "big girl." Gone are the pudgy cheeks and baby nose, and in their places are her beautiful, defined features. She's become more independent, more helpful. She's endlessly surprising me with what she can do on her own. Combine all of that with her age, and it was off to preschool she went.
So the logical step last spring was to meet with the teacher and get our daughter registered. My husband and I took a tour of the classroom and learned of the program. As we listened to the teacher talk about her planned themes and fieldtrip ideas, I felt a tingling sensation at the corners of my eyes. I looked around the room with a bittersweet ache in my chest, willing the tears to go away. Initially they did, but as I wrestled with thoughts of my baby being in the classroom without me, so big and so self-sufficient, I had to fight them off again.
Later, after everything had had a chance to sink in, I plowed ahead with registration forms (even if I was hesitant, my hubby made me once he heard about the “Daddies and Donuts Day” to come). And eventually I made amends with the fact that I couldn’t keep her from preschool; she needed all that it would bring. And when it came down to it, I was beyond excited that she’d be taking the big step. She’d be making new friends, learning so many crucial things, maturing. And she couldn’t wait to set foot in her classroom.
Now, we’re halfway through her preschool year, and it’s all come to fruition. She’s developing into a new girl, finding the importance in the routine of education and discipline. She’s forging friendships and cultivating who she’s going to be.
So I really had no choice but to send her to preschool. Even if the larger part of me wanted to hover outside the classroom that first day, accompanied by the low rumble of that famous theme song - I was a strong mommy. I signed her in and left the building, closing the door behind me. Maybe someday I’ll tell her of the small tear that broke free when the door latched shut behind me. Tags: first daypreschooljourneytears
Rebecca Laffar-Smith
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My youngest is about to start
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122.104.112.xxx
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2008-01-16 06:54:13
I felt a tear just reading your story, Janna. I went through it all with my oldest and I'm building my courage because in two weeks my youngest starts Kindergarten. Like you, I'm not afraid for them but feel the wrench for myself. They love the idea but I'm feeling a little empty-nested because they really do grow up too fast.
Stages 
Sounds like you did A-OK, Momma!
wonderful essey, good work my friend!
Great essay!
