I was not surprised.
The Boy started whining and fretting as we walked into his new school. His classroom is about five feet from the entrance, and as I walked him toward it -- "C'mon Boy, we're going to your new classroom to meet your NEW teacher and your NEW friends. Let's go play!" -- The Boy shouted, "No! No! No! NO!" He pulled against my arm and dragged his feet on the floor. Fat, hot tears rolled off his face and plopped onto my hands as I picked him up. Miss Robin's promise of sponge painting and blocks quieted him for a second, but the tears started again as soon as I leaned in to give him a kiss goodbye.
Miss Robin, who has four kids of her own and has lots of experience comforting teary mommas leaving their babies for the first time, said to The Boy as I left, dry-eyed, "Oh, your mommy is so emotionally mature."
Uh. No. Remember this life lesson from my own mother? Laugh, cry or puke. That is totally what happened this morning. I wanted to bawl my eyes out right along with my baby. But my crying was only going to make The Boy's worse. My stomach lurched and dropped as I walked out of the school, his wails trailing behind me. But I had to go to work and didn't have a change of clothes if puke got on my shirt. And really, I knew he was going to be OK. He was OK. His teachers at pick-up said he was great today, playing and sleeping and eating without problems. He was more excited than usual to see me, but otherwise unscathed, as I expected this morning when I took a deep breath and I laughed.
I sounded a little hysterical and my eyes stung a little, but I laughed. And I felt a little better.