My husband and I had parent/teacher conferences for our girls earlier this week and as we sat down in the teeny tiny pre-k chairs, Audrey’s teacher asked with a smile, “So? What do you think?” And for a minute I just remembered.
About how scared Audrey had been on her first day. About how we worried for weeks if we had made the right decision by moving her from her beloved daycare to a full-day magnet preschool. About how the transition had been so much more difficult for her than it had for her sister. About how I’d – again – made the silly assumption that if it was right for one sister, it was right for the other.
And here we are, nearing the end of this first year and how this child has blossomed. She barely spoke until well after her second birthday. Now? She’s explaining how to use the DVR and telling jokes. Just like that – she’s grown up.
It used to be torture to drop her off every morning. Clinging and crying and having to be physically removed from me. Every morning I’d apologize to her teacher and every morning, she’d smile and tell me to give it time. That one day the switch would just flip. I didn’t believe her.
She was right. Now we get a hug and a fist bump and a wave at drop off – that is, if she even lets us bring her in! She’s taken to wanting to be dropped off at the “Kiss & Go” line in the morning and walking in on her own.
I can’t believe it. I’m so happy she’s thriving there, of course, but at the same time I wonder where the time has gone. She’s so independent. (Um, too independent sometimes. Age three. Year of the threenager, am I right?) I have spent so much time with her trying to just make it to the milestone that I almost didn’t notice that we’re here. And to slow down and enjoy her little self in this stage.
Until, that is, she runs off to hide in the bathroom with a full bag of party sized Doritos.