Thursday, September 15, 2011

Heartbreak Hotel: Time to be Overdramatic


Today Child 1.0 had his first "alone" day of preschool.  Earlier in the week they had an open-house style day where the parents accompany the children and filled out paperwork while the children destroyed explored the classroom.  I prepped A for it last night at bedtime, telling him that mommy couldn't stay today and that I'd be waiting for him while he learned at school.  He could give two shits.  I assumed this was because it was bedtime and he wanted to hear me read Interrupting Chicken for the zillionth time (in my head I was reading Go the Fuck to Sleep).  This morning Child woke up at 6:00am and I seriously thought I was going to die.  See, we have a program in this house called "Let Mommy Sleep Until At Least 7:30 and No One Gets Sad."  Sure enough, I was up making bacon and coffee long before that program usually starts.  Being awake while hubby is around getting ready for work sucks.  Not only is he in the way, but he asks me to do shit for him.  WTF?  Next time I'll pretend to stay sleeping until he leaves for work.  What's that you say?  You need coffee and toilet paper?  F-off.  I practiced my housewifery by making sure Child had a belly full of fluffy, sticky pancakes in his belly and that his teeth and ass were clean enough to take in public.  I changed his outfit three times NOT because I wanted him to look good, but because I couldn't risk him coming home with stains that couldn't be pretreated until late this afternoon.  I know my kid.  When he was fed, dressed, and packed up, we ventured off to Preschool Land.  On the ride there (aside from seeing at least nine cops clocking people), I prepped him further for the day ahead.  Although he was more intrigued than the previous night, he was busy making plans for us for after school (see: taking him to TRU, riding bikes, making hamburgers, etc.).  In the classroom, A hung up his coat and backpack and found his little name apple that the teachers use to take attendance.  He chose the best seat in the house (the one nearest to the snack table AND the bathroom), and sat down to play with the blocks that were waiting for him.  He must have forgot that mommy was there.  I stood there, waiting for him to acknowledge that I was going to be leaving, but he didn't even look up.  Finally, I couldn't take it anymore and I bent down (sidenote: those chairs are damn low to the ground) to him and said that I was leaving and I'd be back and I love him soooo much and that I'd see him soon and tha---he interrupted me with, "Okay, love you, bye."  I knew that I just needed to walk away, but my heart was aching.  I felt the blood rush to my head and wondered if they'd notice the pregnant lady hiding behind the shelf.  I could just stay, right?  Maybe they need a parent helper today?  Somehow my maturity must have been in control because before I knew it, I was out the door.  I stopped when I thought I was discretely hidden (or as much as you can be when you're six months pregnant) and turned to see what he was doing.  Surely he would be looking at me walking away from him, maybe he'd even be pouting a little bit, or telling me to come back to give him one more kiss.  NOPE.  Child was tinkering away with the toys on the table, not even phased by the fact I was gone.  I at least wanted to give him one more pointer finger wave, but I couldn't.  He was in the zone.  I dragged my lonely ass out to the car and wondered if I could fit through the classroom window.  What the hell was I gonna do now?  I've been childless before (thanks Ma and MIL!) but this childless was completely different.  Of course, I had errands I could run but I had this overwhelming feeling of sadness that prohibited me from even starting the car.  I was a little envious of the parents who had  children bearhugging their legs with tears and snot running down their faces (the kids, definitely not the parents.  Ew.).

This is not to say that I never experienced the "child-screaming-while-you-abandon-them-at-school thing" though.  I started A at classes through the village when he turned two.  His first experience was an eight week, forty-five minute class that was once per week.  Adam cried and screamed the whole forty-five minutes for the first three weeks.  The fourth week, he cried for thirty minutes.  The fifth, twenty minutes.  The sixth, ten minutes.  By the last two weeks, he was FINALLY not crying anymore.  It's awful to experience your child crying for you, especially when they are two.  By the next session of classes, he didn't cry at all.  He liked "school" and even talked about his teacher.  Ditto on the sessions after that.  I truly believe the best thing I could have done for him was start him on the school structure/setting early, like I did.  So fast forward to today.  He didn't even look up because he'd been through this whole scheme many times before.  Other kids, this was their first day of being without ma or pa.  I pulled my shit together and ran my errands, which surprisingly, get done in a quarter of the time than when you have a kid with you.  With an hour and a half left to spare, I had nothing to do.  I went home and watched the clock ate a box of cinnamon rolls.  Finally the time came to pick him up (ok, so it was still thirty minutes, DILLIGAF?).  To my delight, I wasn't the first parent there (see: the third), so clearly I wasn't the only one who was a wee-bit anxious.  I peeked through the door, somewhat hoping to see Child looking for me out the window or maybe asking for where his ma was, but NOPE, Child was coloring at the table.  The only thing that was different than when I dropped him off was that he moved to the table that was closer to the girls.  Typical.  I stood in the hall for twenty long minutes before the teachers got sick of seeing my face in the door let us in.  I was the first mom in the room (booyah) and although he didn't explode into joyous celebration, he at least said "hi" to me.  Followed by that he was hungry and wanted to go to IKEA.  I'm sure he was waiting to shower me with hugs and kisses for later.

So there it is.  I survived my kid's first day of school.  And I didn't even cry.  And I have a new appreciation for the days I get to cuddle him all day and read Interrupting Chicken.  And Tuesday better take it's sweet ass time to get here because I need time to recover.

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