Yesterday was L's first day of school. I had been mired in Bittersweet Bog for most of the week leading up to it, with brief forays into Worrying Woods and Possibilities Pond, but mostly I was just sad. L's favourite musical group, Imagination Movers, has a song about the first day of school, and it repeated in my head on a torturous loop all week, made bearable only by the fact that I knew the reassurance of the song had actually really helped L to come to terms with being away from home all day.
I made the decision last week that I would bring her home for lunch, at least for the first couple of months, and once I did that I felt quite a bit easier in my mind about it. All day was just too long for her to be away, and there was the added worry of wondering if she would be ok at lunchtime and manage to open her lunch, wash up properly, etc. And of course I'm aware that I'm giving her too little credit, but it's hard to accept that she'll be away from me and on her own. And she was quite nervous about the whole thing as well, and the idea of being away the whole day. Bringing her home for lunch gives both of us a much-needed break in the day.
So yesterday was her first day. I was aware that my tension was not helping her, so I made a great effort in the days leading up to it to remain positive about the whole thing. L had a lot of questions the night before ("What do I do if I can't peel my banana at snack time? What happens if I fall down and get hurt? What if I can't find my classroom? What if the work is too hard?" etc etc) and I did my best to answer them in a reassuring manner. She came in a few times during the night for cuddles, and I let her stay in with us, figuring that she needed the time and the contact - and so did I. The idea of dropping my baby girl off at school and leaving her there made me feel intensely anxious and sad, but once again I was glad I'd decided to bring her home at lunchtime as it really helped.
Yesterday morning, we got up and got ready, and most of L's anxieties had disappeared overnight in the face of all the excitement. We were the first ones in her classroom, so I had a chance to talk to her teacher and explain how L is already reading and to get a few of my questions answered about how things were going to work. The classroom was oppressively hot - this heat wave can give way to the inevitability of autumn any freaking time - and the fans weren't helping much. But hopefully that won't be the case for much longer. Before long I'll be sending L with sweaters and long pants. By then, I'll be dropping her off at the door instead of walking her in, and meeting her outside for lunch instead of coming to get her. It will all progress. It will all change.
But I don't want L to change. She has a beautiful exuberance and innocence that I never want to see disappear. Her enthusiasm is infectious and inspiring. I don't want to see her touched by cynicism or the surprisingly jaded attitudes of some of the kids she'll encounter. She has a true goodness that I value so highly; it would truly never occur to her to say something mean or unkind to anyone. She wouldn't ever think of making fun of someone or joining in when she sees it being done. She has a temper - don't get me wrong. She can be snippy and annoyed and dramatic - but she is never mean. When others have been mean to her, she is confused by it at the most basic of levels: what is this person saying to me? What do they mean? Are they being "not nice"? Why would they say that? That's the innocence I mean. She is truly good, in a way that I was not sure people still could be. And it's not just her age, because some of the kids who've been unkind to her have been her age or younger, and seem to have a disturbingly instinctual grasp of the politics of bullying. But it is one of the things I love most about her - this true goodness that I never want to see corrupted.
So I left my baby girl at school, and I only cried after I was out of her sight. She was smiling and excited and eager to find out about school. At lunchtime, she was enthusiastic and happy and told me, "I love school!" After school, she greeted me with a huge hug and a new picture, and said that she thought her teacher was much better than the other kindergarten teacher (instant loyalty) and that she couldn't wait to go back.
I can't keep her from growing up, and I would never want to: to wish that she would never grow up would be the height of selfishness. But I do hope and wish that she will never lose that beauty at her core, that innocence, exuberance and goodness that make her who she is. Time may adapt it, but I never want to see it lost.
Yesterday, she was my pride and joy in a way that she had never been before - not just because she was my child, and not just because she is who she is, but because I am intensely proud of her nature that has nothing to do with nurture. And I know that as she gets used to school and starts to grow away from me a bit, that she will always and forever be my beautiful girl.
But I can't promise I won't still cry sometimes when I drop her off.