Yet Another Milestone

Today was Tee's first day of pre-school. My girl was so ready. She picked out her outfit right down to her magenta mary-janes. She went to bed with out a fuss or a fight, and woke up energetic and early. She sat still while I fixed her hair-no small miracle. In fact, her overly compliant behavior is my only sign that she might have had any anxiety over this new adventure. We were at the school before the teachers' even opened the door to her class, and when they did, she walked right in with out looking back.

I know she had a great time. For the first few hours afterward she kept talking and singing. Although the more she talked the less I understood about what she did during the two hours she was in school. She painted a sunflower with yellow paint. She brought home a library book. She told me there are dress-up clothes and a sandbox. But when I asked her if she played dress-up she said no.

It's not like I've never left Tee before. She has been in the nursery at church and stayed with baby-sitters for few hours. Heck, she even stayed overnight with my mom for a week. But I've always been able to rely on the adult for an update or a report. Other than "she was great," I have no idea what my child did for two hours. This is strange territory for me. I know it is necessary, and I'm thrilled my child is one who walked right through the door to the next phase of her life. But I also realize that this is where I begin to ever so slightly let go, to let her grow up and away from me.

And as I open my hand to give Tee a little more freedom, how I wish I could grab the hand of my own mother. As I drove away, I wanted to call her and report that I'd just dropped Tee off, and how brave she was. I wanted to hear my mom's half-giggle-half-sigh that popped out for any one or thing that was adorable. And to be able to go on and on about how cute my girl looked, because I know that she loves Tee almost as much as I do. And mostly, I missed that I wouldn't have had to say anything in particular, because after thirty-one years of being my mother she would have known what I was feeling, and she'd be able, with out a word, to assure me that everything was alright.