It was my three-year-old daughter’s first day in a new preschool class.  She has a new teacher, new cubby, new shoes.  This class has doors on the potties.  This class has printing.  This class has swings on the playground.  But most importantly, this class has big kids.

My not-so-little kid doesn't do transitions well.  We eased her into this one for over a week.  She visited twice.  She learned the names of all the kids in her new class.  She could tell anyone about the new rules.  ("I have to shut the potty door very quietly."  "I don't have to ask to go potty.  I just go."  "Three friends are allowed on the tire swing.")  She showed off her new naptime Hello Kitty pillow to anyone who would oohh and ahh. 

Over the weekend, she told us on several occasions that she was not going to Mr. Smith's class.  She did not cry or whine about it.  She was decisive and determined.  We ignored it as much as we could.

On her first day of the “big class,” she carried her new pillow to Mr. Smith's door and refused to go in.  I coaxed her through the doorway.  She inched towards her new cubby.  I put everything away for her.  We both inched towards the other kids.  She refused to let go of my thumb.  I thought, "This isn't going to go well."

And it didn't.

I made for the door quickly – and started crying before I could get there.  I got an understanding hug from Sam’s mom before I scooted into the observation room to watch her through the one-way mirror. 

Sitting there on Mr. Smith's lap, my precious baby had a full-on sob going.  Fat, wet tears made their way down her face as her eyes and mouth contorted for each wail.  He was hugging her and telling her everything was going to be okay.  (“Hey!” I wanted to yell.  “That's my job!”)  After a few minutes, she let an assistant lead her towards the activity tables.  She chose a matching game, and I left for work.

I forgot to sign her in, collect the papers that were taped to her cubby, or leave our list of phone numbers and e-mail addresses.  I forgot to tell her that she would be okay and that Mommy would pick her up after nap.  I forgot to tell Mr. Smith that I would call the classroom during naptime to check on her.  I forgot to smile at her encouragingly and tell her that I love her.

Someone once told me that letting go begins at birth.  Labor was difficult.  But that pain pales in comparison.

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