Yesterday was Herr Meow’s first day of school-thingy.
Oh man…. his first day. I am actively typing and still cannot believe he’s old enough to spend part of the day away from me AND know he is doing so. I realize that it’s a little silly for me to get worked up over leaving him at a place for less than half a day and only once a week, but he’s never been more than a room away from me since he was born, pretty much. Ah yes: except for the times we’ve actually gone out without him. But I can dorkily assert that those occasions can be tallied up with the fingers of one hand.
Hmm…. okay. They can be tallied up with two hands.
I counted: it’s only been seven times.
I’m not sure if that is the apex of loserly parentese: admitting that you’ve only gone out without the kid on less than ten separate times in almost two years of life, or KNOWING exactly how many times it’s been.
Either way, I think the above statements officially qualify me to be in the Crunchy-Nervous Mother Hall Of Fame. And that "f" in fame is actually a voiceless postalveolar fricative and not a labiodental one. Ahem.
I was told Herr Meow was well-behaved and had a good day, but every once in a while he would realize that I was not around and have a bit of a pout and a whimper until he was reassured that things were well despite his mommy not being around. Then he’d go back to being his playful self. Apparently he did this on a couple of occasions, but then would quickly snap out of it.
I’m relieved. And a little happy that he missed me at least a tiny bit, because when I walked in he was completely absorbed in play and didn’t even look up to see me or Rev. Mom. He was playing with two other boys a game that looked suspiciously like "Short-Order Cook"– spatula on hand, toy egg on the other, standing by the range and looking miffed while one of his cronies attempted to fry something that looked like Scoop from Bob The Builder.
What, you’ve never pretended to cook others’ meals in a ridiculously short amount of time while other people scream at you? Fsh. You’ve not lived.
But seriously: as much as no parent wants to be the one having to deal with the bawling wreck of a child who refuses to be socialized, there is always a bit of a longing in all of us for being missed actively. We want to be significant and we want our lack of presence to be felt.
And at the end of the day we all want the same things: hugs and kisses and reassurances that we will be okay and will not be forgotten.
And also, I-love-yous.
And broccoli stew.
For the bunny. Not for you. (Phew)