Emily started school this week, which mean all last week I worried. I worried about her new schedule, her new teachers, therapists and paras. I worried she would meltdown, throw things, hurt herself and other people with her outbursts. I worried she wouldn't transistion well, be counterproductive, and most of all, miss me.
One worry by one worry she squashed them. Squashed them all. Her new schedule (afternoons this year compared to last years mornings) suits her. Her new teachers, therapists and paras - well, she can't stop hugging them and she lights up when she shes them. Meltdowns? None to speak of so far, and her transistioning has improved so much since last year her old teachers are "wowed". And, yet, the last one - the last one is the hardest.....she doesn't miss me. At all.
Her teachers suggested she ride the bus to and from school - it would help establish her routine for her and set her up for the transistion into school. I reluctantly agreed while selfishly inside I sob, "But what about me? What about my routine? My transistioning?"
This is the first year I have put all my babies on the school bus this year. Well, they are not babies anymore. Noah is a freshman and Ben is a second grader but every day of every school year since they were 3 I have dropped them off and picked them up. Eleven years of listening to music and singing. Eleven years of asking about their days and listening to the answers. This year, "POOF!" it is gone like a flash of lightning. I watch them walk to the bus stop and get on and I am jealous of that bus, listening to my babies jabber to their friends and carry their precious bodies to school. I am sad as they drive away, leaving me alone in the driveway with my lukewarm coffee in my jammies. Towards the end of the day I check my phone a thousand times for a call that says they have missed the bus so I can pretend to be annoyed when inside I would be elated to go get them. The very least I can do is pace outside in my driveway and pretend to weed my garden until I see them hop off that bus and smile at me.
So when Emily's teachers suggested this, my heart sank and I felt it thunk against my feet. She is my last baby, and I thought I would have more time. More time to look in the rearview mirror and watch the sunlight dance against her hair. More time to listen to her ever increasing recognizeable speech, not caring that most of it is scripting from animated movies. Just those few extra minutes I get to see her smile and listen to her laugh.
This is a new pain I have not experienced. And it hurts. Even if it is for her benefit, I am so reluctant to let her on that bus. So reluctant to let them experience the joy that is my daughter. That is my right. And for the greater good, it has been stripped away from me.
No longer will I get to hear her say, "LOOK! Ish my shkool! Emmees shkool!" No longer will we get to walk hand in hand to the car where I put her in her seat and she looks at me and smiles and says, "Cshicken? Joooce?"
Oh, I know I will see the joy in her face when she gets to ride the "Shkool bush" Watch her run up to it like it's a rocket ship to the moon. I will get to see her explode with delight when they drop her off and she runs into my arms....and in time, I will get accustom to this new joy and forget the old ones. But today, I feel a little bitter as the School Bus drives away with all my memories....
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