Despite lots of anxiety the night before, a tummy full of butterflies, sweaty palms, and a few tears, the first day of preschool drop-off went remarkably well. Oh, and Ava did great too. As I choked back the tears, let go of her little hand, hugged her for too long, and sent her off into a scary new world of germs, head lice, teasing, having to wipe her own bum, and unfamiliar faces, all I could picture was the day we brought her home from the hospital, almost 4 years prior. She was all wrapped up in the infamous pink-white-blue striped hospital blanket, tight as a Chipotle burrito. The weather was strangely identical on both occasions; the perfect, archetypal New England fall day. Crisp, cool air, perfect blue cloudless sky, blindingly bright sun, leaves beginning to turn. I must have asked her at least 20 times on the way to school, 'Are you sure you want to go? We can turn around right now and go home if you want...' These propositions were met with quick, unsupported glances from the corner of Jeff's eyes, as if to say 'Stop talking NOW you crazy lady!"
But the truth is, I never would have offered if I didn't know her so well. Her ambition. Her tenacity. Her fearlessness. Her ability and desire to tackle new situations and environments with ease and excitement.
As I helped her hang her Hello Kitty backpack on her designated hook, she took my head in her hands. 'Mommy, you are going to be okay. It's only 3 hours. Just go home, do some chores, and then come pick me up, okay? I love you!'
With that, we walked her to her classroom where she sat at the table with the other kids....picked up a lump of play-doh, and smiled at the little boy next to her. 'Hi! I'm Ava and I'm four. What's your name?'
I have never been more proud.
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