It’s 8 am and I am early for a class for which I have no completed the readings. It’s been a very busy week and I’ve been doing okay until last night I remembered that this class already started last week and probably was actually starting, you know, the work part of things.
I missed the first class because it was the kid’s first day of school and I had to put her on the bus and then spend some time freaking out about how quiet the house is.
And then on Monday I snuck into her room to kiss her goodbye before I left for my full day of classes. I don’t think she knew that she wasn’t going to see me at all that day. After two years of being a team, Daddy was going to put her on her bus, get her off the bus, get her dinner and then to bed, and I wouldn’t see her or play with her or really interact with her for a full day.
And when I put her on the bus on Tuesday morning there were lots of tears and some begging. She was desperate to not get on the bus. She missed me, she said. “Mommy” she cried. And I had to get her on the bus and walk away.
Last night the thoughts creeped into my mind – this is stupid, what am I doing, I should just quit. I need to be there for her, my brain said. I’m being selfish, and I’m wearing myself down and she’s going to hate me forever.
But you know what? She’s learning French. She’s making friends. She’s a big fan of her teacher. My classes are interesting and I have goals in mind. I’ve got assignments that are going to be awesome and at the end of the year my kid will come to watch me walk across the stage.
Because do you know what she told the other parents at the bus stop on Monday morning when Daddy was the one dropping her off?
“It’s my mommy’s first day of school.”