On The First Day Of Preschool, My Daughter Gave To Me

About a year ago, in January, I decided that come this September, now past, I was enrolling Ellie in preschool. If not in September, certainly January present day, and 2.9 was a fine enough age.

I went to the Child Education "Expo" - the middle school cafeteria if you will - with representatives from our town and surrounds, and did what people do. I looked at the brochures, I inspected the director's, I listened in without asking, and I thought about what I wanted, and why, and by when, and for who.

Because here's the thing, with all the talk about preschool, I didn't do it for any of the reasons I hear cited. It wasn't to socialize her - she goes to playgroups, parks, playdates, music circles, libraries in abundance. It wasn't to expose her to other authority figures - my particular group of "mom" friends has zero issue stepping in, it wasn't even because she is, and likely will be, an only, thus needs to learn to share.

I did it because
a) I'm tired
and
b) I'm anxious.

I put her in preschool because the day to day sole provider, sole entertainment, sole proprietor of her well-being was...making me tired. I put her in daycare because I wanted her to be with someone else, someone beyond me, someone invested in entertaining her, in playing with her, in guiding her, in teaching her - because as her stay-at-home mother, I felt like my days were consumed with the tactical and practical. I found myself wishing away time, hours, head down looking to nighttime, solely to be alone.

I adore her.
My love for her runs rampant and abundant.
She is amazing, funny, articulate and impish.
She's the shit, a little shit, and a hot shit.
She's everything but yet I needed less of one everything and more of something. Else.

I put her in preschool because my repertoire was exhausted. I teach what I know, in the way that I know. But it's very my way, and I thought exposure to someone elses way was a great idea. Someone that would play with shaving cream, someone that would take her outside to garden, someone that would do crafts, sing songs, make faces. Because in my everyday, we weren't playing enough. We weren't enjoying what we did because I'm always wondering where I have to be next, what I have to do next, and how I can work harder, stronger, better, faster.

About eight people have asked me how I feel about her going to school.
And I feel...nothing.
Maybe because she was born into a NICU, maybe because my sister took her overnight young, maybe because her grandparents would fight to the death for her, maybe because her babysitter is a Camp Sunshine volunteer, maybe because of all those things, I have no fear entrusting her into the care of others.

I trust myself. I trust where I placed her. And I trust that if it doesn't work out, I'll just do something different.

People talk about mother guilt. About going to bed at night feeling awful, feeling terrible, feeling as if they haven't been a good mother.
I must have a supreme ego.
A sublime one.
Because I think I'm doing great.
And I think she's pretty great too.

I think I sent her to preschool because I realized that she and I would be better off for it. That because of who I was, I wasn't equipped to be with her all the time. And I'm very ok with that decision.

My husband asked me that morning: "So, are you nervous?"
Me: baffled "Nervous about what?'
Him: "Her. Preschool."
Me: "God no, why would I be nervous?
Him: "Well, what if she doesn't like it?"
Me: "Well that would be her problem then, wouldn't it?"

When Ellie was a little baby, a little tiny baby, the visiting nurse came to check in. To weigh her, to check the crib, her breathing, to see if I needed help. And I remember talking to her on the rug on my living room floor, playing with Ellie, then resting Ellie atop a blanket with nothing but a silky square over her. And asleep she went.

And the nurse looked on in wonderment, then with kindness.
And in her greatest act of charity said to me "You are going to do fine. You're daughter just fell asleep there - because you expect her to. That's how you mother. You expect it of her, and she'll do it."

I know my daughter will do well. Maybe not amazing, and not without issues, but she'll be fine.

Because God takes care of children and fools.
So that covers both of us.