In a week you'll be starting preschool. In preparation, your father and I have attended three meetings to iron out the details. We've signed up for tasks (your dad has already completed his first chore: powerwashing the playground toys). I've volunteered to be a board member (publicity and grant writing) and we are excited to be involved.
We've even been fighting over which one of us gets to go to school on your special day, which, as you will find out, is when mommy or daddy turns up to assist your teacher for the day. We'll be busy in the kitchen making snacks, cleaning up and helping your schoolmates traverse the tortures of bathroom etiquette and playground protocol while you look on and beam. Or so we've heard. It will be one of the few times in your development when you will be proud to have us around.
I worry how you will get along in school. Children can be mean. There will be those who won't want you to play with them. There will be petty jealousy and nasty looks. There may even be pushing, shoving and eventually trips to the principal's office, or worse, the nurse.
We've already experienced a little of the communication breakdowns that happen between tots. We winced in pain when your sweet, playful pretending was misunderstood by a child who just didn't "get it," and felt compelled to call you a name and run away. What could we say? Nothing. You didn't seem to need any explanations. "She didn't want to play," you said, not unhappy.
I worry also that you might become one of those mean girls. One of the girls who want to run the show and watch the actors squirm under their direction. In many ways, that would be worse.
So babyofmine, while the idea of school excites you now, we are petrified. You are growing up, making your own decisions and reacting to things we can't control. We hope that we make it easier for you, but not too easy. We hope you make it easier for us, too. But not too easy, right?