I just dropped my 5 year old off at school for her first day of Kindergarten. Just yesterday at noon we weren’t sure it was going to happen. She was hit with a stomach bug a couple of days ago and had spent all of yesterday morning lying prone on our bedroom floor (“It helps my belly, mama.”), listening to the full Winnie the Pooh collection audiobook, with a Pedialyte popsicle in one hand and some turkey bacon in the other. The bacon seemed like a bad idea to me, too, but it offered our only glimmer of hope and she did keep it down, once again proving that she knows her body better than I do.
We had done a lot of preparation in the two weeks leading up to the start of school. I drew her a calendar so she could count down the days. We read every book about school, emotions, and the subway on our shelves. We started waking up earlier. Mike and I planned out our mornings, drop-offs, pick-ups, and all the related tasks. We had gone over the first week: class visit day (“We’ll stay with you!”), first day (“A short day.”), second day (“A long day.”), then the class picnic. All of this fell apart with the uncertainty of the stomach bug. None of us knew when her first day would be until the evening of the day before, and a lot of the details changed so we had to quickly catch her up. “Yes! You get to go to school tomorrow!” “No, we actually won’t stay.”
I leaned heavily into the most important part of our preparation: her relationship with her teacher. We had wondered about her together, remembered fond memories, and now I focused on how they might greet each other. Both my kid and her teacher are huggers and I know this is a source of comfort for her.
She took it in stride and we had an easy bedtime. And then around 5am the tears started, and with them my own doubts. If I hadn’t just written my Guide to Separations the week before, that voice might have been louder. Difficult to ignore. My kid? She would have sniffed out my anxiety in a second. Instead, I steadied myself and pulled her to shore.
Going to school is hard! I remember the sweaty palms, the knot in my stomach, competing with the thrill of seeing friends. As a child, I did not know it was okay to feel that way. I want to make sure my kid does. I also want her to know that she can handle that feeling. I spent 20 minutes with her in bed this morning hearing her out. She told me her fears and I asked for details. With one eye on the clock (20 minutes is a LOT in the morning), I held her as she let it all out and found her way through.
By the time we ran into a friend on the subway, she was calm and feeling confident. She took his hand–an out-of-body flashback to when I used to do this to coax my more timid friend into dance class as a three year old–and they chatted away, catching up about their summers. She held another friend’s hand up the stairs, another one’s down the hall, and finally ran into her classroom without saying goodbye. I called her to me to let her know I was leaving, following my own advice. She quickly hugged me while looking at her teacher, immediately turning towards her to show her our matching necklaces.
Attachment transferred. She knows she is cared for. She knows she is safe. She knows we are still connected.
And now she’s off… writing her own stories while I sit in a coffee shop down the street and miss her. Good thing today is a short day.
For the record, I’m also enjoying the glorious feeling of having space and time to myself among other adults. Knowing she is safe and cared for allows me to separate, too. I don’t need every day to be a short day. I’m embracing having all the feelings all at once. Can’t recommend it more highly.
If you have an upcoming transition or separation, you can find my FREE Guide to Separations here. Share the guide or this post with anyone supporting a child as they start school or daycare.