The Boy is officially in the 2-year-old classroom now. Dropping him off was absolutely awful this morning.
A big part of the problem is that I still haven’t met the teachers, and it doesn’t help that the classroom where I drop him off in the mornings isn’t the one where he will spend most of his time. So, his cubby isn’t in that room, his artwork (once he makes some) isn’t in that room, and his teachers aren’t in that room. And it didn’t help this morning that he doesn’t know any of the kids, either.
After I signed him in, I briefly looked around the room and pointed out all the cool things in the classroom that aren’t in the Toddler room. They have bathroom stalls – short enough for me to peer into, but tall enough to give kids privacy when they use the facilities. There’s a little sink where he can wash his hands without needing to use a step stool. The tables and chairs are a little taller than the ones in the Toddler room (though still shorter than the set at home), and there are Legos and art supplies and all kinds of fun toys that we have at home but weren’t in the Toddler room. After all, he’s a big(ger) kid now!
I did my best to talk about everything excitedly, to get him to take me on a tour of the classroom, but he would have none of it. He begged in earnest between sobs for me to take him outside (“Out! Mama! Peas! Mama! Out! Peas! Peas!”), and he clung to my leg for dear life as I wrote on the sign-in sheet. Finally, the teacher there (still don’t know her name) took him from me so that I could escape. As soon as the door shut behind me, I ran to his old Toddler classroom and sobbed.
As if that weren’t enough, I still needed to run diapers to his new classroom (not the temporary one). I wrote his name on the package in the Toddler room, steeled my nerves, then ran (literally) past the room where I left him and down the hall to his classroom. Once I was there, I looked around a bit, just to see where my little boy would be spending most of his days for the next year. It’s an adorable facility, really – perfectly sized for him, and I can totally see him fostering more independence in the coming year. I carefully made my way back once I heard one of the Directors being paged to the classroom where I left him and saw him standing by the door, tears streaming down his little cheeks, wringing his hands and stomping his feet as he cried, “Mamaaa! Mamaaaaaa! Mamaaaaaaaaaa!”
It absolutely broke my heart. Thankfully, he was looking the other way and didn’t see me through the window (I would have died if he did), but it washorrible. I felt terrible!
I’m sure he will give Cute Husband a full report this afternoon when Cute Husband picks him up. And I know he’s fine and is probably enjoying himself as I write.
It doesn’t ease the Mommy Guilt, though.