Declan officially started preschool last Monday, I now have two days a week where I can experience the freedom of not having three foot of trouble hanging around my knees constantly. I spent the first day sobbing, the second day I was uneasy, but happy about how much he was enjoying himself, by the time yesterday hit I was delighted to ship him off to play with his friends and finger paint. As much as I love having him around, it’s like I’ve gained back a piece of me for two days a week. I have rediscovered so many joys since that first day, like peeing without an audience and eating food without having to share. If this keeps up I might even be able to do something really crazy, like take a bath ALONE!
Declan loves it, and by Thursday each week he’s already asking whether it’s time to go back to school. The ladies that teach his class keep on telling me how wonderful he is, how well he plays with the other children, how smart he is. I partially want them to see him at home stealing toys from his brother and slamming doors in my face because I’ve done something abusive and highly damaging, like telling him he can’t have a second cookie, but I also don’t want to ruin their image of how fab they think he is.
As nice as it is to get the break, it’s magic to pick him up, hear him scream “MUMMY!” and come pelting down the steps from the wendy house. He’ll run around the classroom and show me what he painted, and what he played with and tell me how wonderful it all was. His mouth is moving too fast for me to keep up and his enthusiasm is seeping from every pore in his body, it’s wonderful.
