Last week, my baby girl started school. For the first time ever. In her entire life.
Sure, she went to speech therapy all last year. But those sessions were only 45 minutes each, and the therapist had to pry her off my leg almost every time.
She's also been to Vacation Bible School twice, which is a week-long half a day program. The first time, she cried so badly when she glimpsed me walking by that her teacher told me never to walk by her class again. Her second time at VBS, I was her group leader.
And okay, she does go to Sunday School for 90 minutes every week. Even so, a few weeks ago, her Sunday School teacher had to come fetch me because she wouldn't quit crying. Luckily, her big brother is in the same class as her, so he's been assigned to stay by her at all times.
It was the only time that she actually wanted to stick with her brother.
I was afraid that she would have a hard time letting go on her first day. Instead, it was me left standing there all teary-eyed.
What in the world? I had sent two other kids off to school with nary a tear. Why was this time different?
And no, it was not my emotional time of the month, as the husband puts it.
Mommy, I had fun at school today! I colored and cut out an apple by myself! I talked to my teacher, too. I'm a big girl now!