Take good care of my baby

Sometimes I’m a little slow on the uptake.

Margaret has been driving me crazy all weekend. Oppositional. Defiant. Whiny.  The worst of the “3” behavior.

I was thisclose to selling her to the gypsies. And then I remembered.

She’s going to pre-school on Monday.  

And my independent, bossy, fearless, take-no-prisoners, smart-as-a-whip, you-build-it-and I’ll- knock it-down little girl is scared. And she doesn’t know how to say it. 

She’s been with Joanie since she was 6 weeks old. (I know, I know, it sounds like a horrible thing to put a six-week-old baby in daycare. I never thought I’d do it. Except that I hadn’t been in my job long enough to qualify for FMLA. And we had Joan, supermom that she is. But still…I put a 6-week-old baby in daycare?) She knows the rules, the drill. She’s the old kid, the one who tells everyone what to do.

And now, she’s leaving this safe environment and going to school. With rules (lots of rules), and expectations.  When you’re three, new is scary. (When you’re 46, new is scary sometimes too.)

As much as I dreaded this day, as much as my eyes filled with tears every time I thought about this day…now that this day is here, it’s harder for her than it is for me. 

So we had a talk about how going to a new school can be scary. But so worth it for the new friends you meet and the new things you get to do.  And we talked about how great she’s going to be. 

Best of luck to you, Miss Frances. Take good care of my baby (who’s now officially not only not a baby but not even a toddler anymore, but who will always be my baby.)

(I had a cute photo of her to post with this, but I can’t figure out how to get it from my new phone to the computer.  Which is typical.)


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