My four year-old son is fast asleep. He is trying to make the night hurry up and go so that morning will come. Tomorrow is his first day of Pre-K and never has there been a more excited child than he.
For all of his lucky four years he has never known a babysitter or a daycare. He has always been with his dad or me. We flipped ourselves over inside and out to create a patchwork of schedules that would allow our child to stay at home. He doesn’t know how good he has it.
While my son is super-duper-ooper-schmooper excited, I am a nervous ninny. I even got a bit teary eyed as I packed his bag and double-checked that his favorite clothes are set out.
I cannot help but worry about how well he will adjust. Will he freak out when we leave him there? Will he make a friend? Will he cry? If he does cry will the kind teacher, Miss. Sharon know that he likes to be hugged a certain way? Or that if she chats him up about Wild Kratts he will stop crying and start roaring like a lion?
Motherhood has turned me into an iron clad sally sap. I spend my days toughening my resolve in defense of my son’s whiny demands but then I fold under the gaze of his giant brown eyes when he cries. No other person on earth can make as crazy mad as this child can. But then there is also no one else on earth – with the exception of his little brother – who can make my heart melt into a puddle of sappy fool love.