When you become a new parent, you are immediately thrown into a world of what to do, how to do, when to do it, where to do it, with whom to do it and on top of all that, how well all that should be done. My adage is whoever has advice, gives it and whoever doesn't want advice, gets it. When I became a parent for the first time, every cry hit me in the gut, every fear became my worst nightmare, every moment of frustration felt a bit like I had signed up for the wrong college degree; “Is it too late to change my major? I know I have 36 credits towards becoming an English Major, but what I want to be is a Computer Programmer!” I was a teensy bit overwhelmed, a little bit neurotic, a tad bit on edge. I remember visiting my Aunt's home and being told very clearly to “PUT THAT BABY DOWN!” Apparently, the women there felt that I was holding my son a little too much and a little too protectively. I guess I gave them the impression of being an overly concerned parent. In defense of these women, they were giving me permission to let him cry a little bit, wanting me get to know that feeling and to realize that babies don't have a timer on them that says ‘this baby will explode in 3, 2, 1 unless picked up.’ I knew I was a good parent, but was tied to my son since I was breastfeeding and that made it almost impossible to get over those feelings of connectedness for some time.
As the years progressed and I hovered less at the playground and I let go just a little, my son and I expanded our horizons and got down and got dirty more often. We did more fun things that helped me to relax and join in with other Moms who assured me that everything I worried about was normal and it would all fall into place based on what I was doing and the decisions my husband and I were making. I'll admit, I did perseverate on some of the fine details more with him; class projects needed to be just right; birthday parties had to be perfect; the first Christmas photo just about put me over the edge (not to mention the flop sweat that I experienced in the JCPenney waiting area); my first son got my attention to detail.
Enter second son, who didn't do too bad in the Mommy department. I had mellowed, I had matured, I had discovered I loved Red wine much more and I was on anti-depressants. Ah ha! Now, second son started preschool in another town from first son. In the new town, there is a park district program that required parents to fill out forms, camp out at the crack of dawn and get the pick of whichever class and teacher is still available by the time you are at the sign-up station. Huh? This seemed odd. I had never experienced this phenomenon before except while waiting for Springsteen tickets. Would this be as good? Well, I didn't care which class or teacher and I was fine with afternoons since I stayed home with my kids and wouldn't need to line up a cast of thousands for drop off and pick up, so we chose the one that seemed best. Mrs. K was a gem. Mrs. K had an assistant Miss M. They were cheerful, loving, firm, clear about the rules, understanding, and above all, they had Color Day. This was something I hadn't experienced before and I was intrigued. We hit Color Day with a vengeance early on. Yellow day brought out second son's favorite yellow shirt and a cute yellow item we found in the home and put in his backpack. I was so proud of myself, being so prepared. Blue day went pretty well; got the shirt right, but the blue item was a Kinko's card from my purse. Wew! How lucky was I? I thought to myself, if first son had been going here and I had forgotten a color item, I would have jumped in the car, driven back home and found the shirt and item, driven back to school, pulled him in the bathroom, done a quick change, with the hopes of having him not miss any circle time. Remember that preschool is only 2 1/2 hours long. Second son got a few things from home, a few things from under the van seats and maybe one other thing from my purse. All in all, not a bad year.
Enter third child, only this time, its was a girl.
