It has been one of those weeks I've been dreading. I've lied to people by repeating “I’m fine,
totally cool with it, I’m excited” only to have pushed my feelings further and
further back and ignore them.
At 18 months old, you are finally making the move from the Pre-toddler room to the Toddler room at your daycare. You have been visiting the toddler classroom all week. The daycare director, Ms. Tina would show up promptly at 9am and
walk hand-in-hand with you to the Toddler room. You would play in there for
only two hours, surely finding it a bit confusing as to why you were in there,
wondering why none of your other friends came with you from the other
classroom. At 11:00am, Ms Tina would
appear again to return you to the Pre-Toddler room for a bit of lunch followed
by your snuggly afternoon nap.
Then, today, it hit me. I was no longer to drop you off in
the Pre-tot room. As we entered the building and passed your old classroom, you
pointed backwards and gave me a confused look.
I told you it was ok, we were going to play with our new friends today.
We walked into your new classroom, where four other children
were already seated quietly and eating cheese toast for breakfast. You clung to
me like a cat being lowered into a porcelain bathtub filled with cold water. I
smiled at you reassuringly and asked you to show me your new cubby. We walked
to the cubby area and sure enough, Ms. Vanessa had marked your new cubby with
your name written in colorful bubble letters.
We toured the room, finding short chairs meant for short little legs,
chalkboard easels, and tons of dinosaur toys.
Ms. Vanessa placed a small stool in front of a short sink, and we joined
her to wash your hands (or as I always say “Milo, let’s make bubbles!” to which
you quickly reply “bubbles?!”).
You still were unsure of your new surroundings. I squatted
down near your cheese toast, because, let’s be honest, everything is better
when food is nearby. You grew confident in that moment and climbed off of my lap to take a few short
steps toward the chair labeled with your picture. You squatted down where your
bottom joined the stool, and in that instant I knew you would be ok. You haphazardly poked your cheese toast while
simultaneously looking around at your new classmates. Some you've grown up with
and know very well, others are new to you.
I grabbed my keys, blew a quick kiss, and told your teacher to call me
with any questions.
As I made my way back toward the front of the building, I
stifled back the tears, those wet drops that are streaming so freely now as I
type this. I signed you out in the book up front, scribbling my initials and
the time, 8:12am. I had faced my fears in exactly 7 minutes. I realized that in those seven minutes, you weren't the only one letting go; I had to let go too. Those infant days are
gone. Those days when I carried you into
the building in your car seat and sat you down in the circle, still sleeping from
the drive across town. Those days where I
worried bigger kids would poke your fontanel or hit you with a toy when you
were lying on the mat, immobile and defenseless. Those days that I never put shoes on your
feet, only really cool socks with fake shoe strings or dinosaur teeth. Those
days spent mixing together 3 bottles of formula for your daily feedings while
still drowsy from little or no sleep.
And while you may not be driving yet, kissing girls or
peeking under the skirts of mannequins to find whats really under there, you have reached a huge milestone. It may
not be worthy of notifying the media, but in my world it is huge.
Congratulations on moving up. I hope your first full day in your new classroom is amazing.
**Letter To Milo is a series of posts sent via email to Milo. Keith started an email address for him when we came home from the hospital after Milo was born, and we routinely email him funny stories or updates about his development. We hope, someday when he's older, he will enjoy these stories about his life.
