First Day

The first day of school is terrifying.  At least, it always was for me.  All first days are scary, if you think about it- first day at a new job, first day of grad school, first day at a new pilates class- they all give me the same pit-of-the-stomach ache, the same shortness of breath, the same intense feeling of apprehension.  Where should I sit? Who can I talk to? Am I doing this right?  I know it is the desire to fit in and be comfortable that is not yet established when you walk into a new situation that brings about these worries, and that soon the feeling will fade and the new will eventually become known. But those first few days? Pretty tough.

In just over a week my baby, my first born, will go to her first day of school.  Being four years old she has the luxury of not yet feeling self-conscious.  Her only worry about school is that Mommy won’t be with her all day.  But once it was explained to her that at school she will do projects, make friends, listen to music and have snacks, she was totally on board.  This is not to say that a melt-down may not occur the first time I try to leave her there, but so far so good.  Eventually (sadly) she will learn that apprehension and worry about the first day.  She will learn that not everyone will be her friend, that she won’t like all of the snacks or books or songs, and that someday school will be hard work.  For now, thankfully, we are focused on the positive. 

I am so excited to picture her there, taking turns, listening to the teacher, raising her hand, and learning about the world outside of the one her family has created for her so far.  Someone was recently telling me that having kids is like building a ship.  You have hopefully chosen the right materials, given it the strength and solidity to withstand hardship, stocked it with enough provisions and given it the proper anchor for when standing still is necessary.  But eventually all ships must leave the dock and test their seaworthiness.  While this may be a bit of a dramatic example when thinking about sending a girl to preschool for three hours a day, it still feels right in a lot of ways.  This is my daughter’s first real experience in the world where I or another family member are not either directly involved or are waiting on the other side of the door.  I know, even if I worry or feel that first-day fear for her, that she will take the wind, and sail.