Last night was all excitement. "I will wear my lady bug dress and my new black high heels (not really - sshhhh) and white socks and I want one barrette in my hair - the purple one, even though it won't match because purple is my favorite anyhow and..." This went on for roughly 3 hours. When I entered her room at 6:30 this morning, she was sitting up in bed "brushing" her hair (unfortunately from the end to the root instead of the other way around).
This morning was all excitement. "I will have cinnamon toast for breakfast because I may not like the lunch there and I want to take my Hello Kitty backpack because Hello Kitty is my favorite and you forgot to give me my vitamins Mommy - the gummy one and the one with sparkles please." (She has ceased calling me "mama" and insists on "mommy" now, and I am heartbroken about it as I am out of babies to call me "Mama")
The drive to the YW was all excitement - she went in with me to drop her brother off in the much cooler "older kids" room, quick to tell anyone who dared grant her more than a passing gaze that today was her first day in Pre-K. You'd think she'd be intimidated by a bunch of 8-year-olds...you'd be wrong.
Then, as we climb the stairs to the Pre-K room, an almost unfamiliar sensation these days: she has willingly, voluntarily deigned to hold my hand. As we walk down the hall and approach the door, her steps have slowed down. We swing the door open and there she is, like any other 4 year old little girl, hiding behind her Mommy.
There were no tears - at least I didn't see any from her, and she didn't see any from me, mostly because I waited until I was back in my car to cry. There were more hugs than usual, and lingering, but no tears. And while I've been anxiously awaiting today - "That little girl needs a brisk wake-up call!" - I now find myself terrified that perhaps I've made a mistake. Yes, I want her to cooperate and to someday move towards acknowledging the slim possibility that other people in the world might know a thing or two about a thing or two, too...but this over-confidence, as much as it pains me daily and causes me to pull my hair out and raise my voice and feel bad about raising my voice and dig in my heels sometimes and cave to avoid the battle others...what I wouldn't give for it. That wee little voice in your head, the one we all carry around? Right now hers always says, "You got this kid, piece of cake." And isn't that what we all wish our little voices said to us? Did I really lament that my daughter lacked self-doubt?
I know, I know...I know. This is just another challenge, another step along the road to independence, and the introduction of "sharing", late as it's come, is better managed now then in Kindergarten. I'm just...I'm nervous. I'm nervous about what her wee little voice will say to her tomorrow morning. I wish I had her confidence...
