The hardest part, to me, about raising a child isn’t necessarily the sleepless nights. It’s not the whining, screaming, hitting, biting, puking, worrying- terrible twos, traumatic threes, holy FUCK fours and all the horribly awful ages that I am positive come after that…
It’s sending them off to be in the care of someone else and wonder if you’ve done everything the “right way”. Yes, I know there is no one right way, yes I know I preach that on a daily basis- but there is a right for YOUR own child, and that shit ain’t easy to figure out.
Worrying about whether or not they’re going to be as big of an a-hole to everyone else as they are to you- and there will be NOTHING you can do about it because they are out of your care and therefore out of your control for the time they are in school… is STRESSFUL. Super stressful.
I have no question in my mind that he NEEDED to go, wanted to go- wasn’t going to sob and cry about Mommy leaving him. He’s not that kind of kid. He’s been begging to go to school for YEARS and was straight up pissed at me for a month when I informed him that he wouldn’t be attending pre-school.
It’s the not knowing the every goings on of his day that will have you sprouting new wrinkles you’ll have to name after months and years of your child’s school experience.
At least at home when Holden is being completely assholey, no one else has to see it. Just me… not that I want to either, but it’s better than having witnesses to the extreme turdacity of his behavior.
Since I dropped him off this morning, I’ve been staring at my phone. I feel like a high-school girl sitting home on a Saturday evening, waiting for the phone to ring to see if maybe SOMEONE wants to go out and do something, because loose plans had been made, but I just wasn’t sure if they were actually going to come to fruition or if I was going to be “stood up”.
Of course, in this case…. I prefer to be stood up. If my phone rings, it probably means he’s either jumped off the top of the damn playground and back-flopped onto the ground, or maimed someone else with his stupid Angry Birds Lunchbox, or made a comment pertaining to the size of his teacher’s boobs (he’s just been in a booby phase lately), or pissed all over himself in the bathroom trying to make that whole urinal-trough combo work out, or spilled milk all over himself in the cafeteria after thinking it would be a fantastic idea to spit food at someone, or called someone some kind of name that we here at home think is cute and fun to do- but at school these days you can’t even say “crap” without getting sent to the damn principal, or he’s thrown one of his fits about how he “CAN’T DO IT” , thrown his arms over his chest and made the most obnoxious bottom-lipped pouty faces the world has ever seen, when really he can but he’s just being a stubborn little shit…
Those are all the kinds of things he would do at home, get punished for, and swear never to go again (whether or not that latter part is true is always an unknown)- but at least it was just ME he pulled this shit in front of. Witnesses concern me. Witnesses who can decide his academic future and put big ugly black marks on some kind of giant record that’s locked away in a box that all the other people in charge of his academic future can look at, and there’s nothing I can do about it.
THERE ARE SO MANY POSSIBILITIES! SO MANY HORRIBLE TERRIBLE POSSIBILITIES!
We all want to do the absolute best for our kids, that’s not a bad thing- I’m not saying that it is. When a kid goes off to school or daycare or any other place where they have to act how they have learned to act while under YOUR care- and they go completely fucking crackhead insane, break every rule, scream and fight and whatever the hell else it is they can do in order to pass themselves off as wild animals- who does that reflect poorly on? That’s right, us parents. WE must have fucked up somewhere, and in the process, fucked up our kid.
That feeling, even if wrong (because all kids have shitty assholey “I hate everyone and everything” kind of days), is NOT A FUN ONE to experience. Then you start to wonder where you went wrong, how you can change it, IF you even can- and you think maybe, possibly, that you’ve somehow failed them.
As crazy as all of that might sound (and I know it sounds crazy)- I think it’s typical brain fodder for a parent. We want the best for them, we want them to be the best too. We don’t want them to be judged or ourselves to be through them- and so we worry; even if it’s about ridiculous shit that would likely never happen, or that is COMPLETELY normal for a kid to do or say or have happen to them- we still worry.
So that’s what I’ve been doing, all day: Worrying. I’m a typical worried mother; harried even! This displeases me greatly. And the silence of only having one child in the house the lack of slap fighting and screeching over toys and the refusal to share said toys- gives even more room in my brain for these worries and thoughts and fears to go slingshotting around up there…. well, the time that isn’t spent hearing “I WANT PLAY, MOMMY! I WANT PLAY!” from a child I had NO idea was SUPER FUCKING NEEDY and now follows me everywhere like a clingy high-school girlfriend…. yeah, when I’m not hearing that shizz, I’m worrying.
It’s now T-Minus 30 minutes until Holden’s very first day of school EVER will be over. Even with all of my worrying, all of those horrible terrible possibilities- as this harried mom who worries about the wellbeing and behavior of her child- I have to understand that the transition is a rough one for everyone.
I will consider it a success if he still has ten fingers, ten toes, and hasn’t had his sarcastic ass kicked to the curb.
Don’t look at my words that way; sometimes we moms just have to take the little wins.
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