A Big Baby Step
Wednesday, September 9, 2009 at 11:16PM Today was Eliana's first day of Co-op. Our church has a program where mothers sign their two-year-olds up for a little class with one teacher and two volunteer moms (all of the moms, or dads, rotate throughout the year) and it meets two days a week. Except for the week of Labor Day and any other holiday that falls on or affects one or the other of the days.
Just to clarify.
If any of you actually know me, then you know this is a big deal. I am a mom who has gotten increasingly crazy over the years. I have an eight-year-old and a six-year-old who go to Sunday School, attend baseball games, participate in sports and Bible studies. And I do worry about germs and sickness and vomiting episodes with them...much more than the average mom does, I would say. But with Eliana I have been exceedingly protective. Excessively anxious. Extremely paranoid. I could go on, but I think you get the point.
I think I'll analyze for a minute; this was something I was thinking about recently because it affects my life in such a large way as well as everyone else in the family. Why am I so inordinately fearful when it comes to her? Well, several years ago we lost two pregnancies in an eight month period of time. Then I got pregnant with Eliana. Uh, oh. I feel a long one coming...
No, I will try to keep it...not long. Basically, I had a progesterone issue. I didn't know about it the first time. The second time, I had a suspicion but kind of took an ostrich-sticking-its-head-in-the-sand approach. What I mean by that is I wasn't sure I was pregnant, and I took a while to find out, and by then it was too late to do anything about it because it was, at that point, obvious that there was trouble. (Sorry for being cryptic, it's hard to write about this kind of thing...not because I mind sharing, but because you never know just how much is too much for the sharee.) The third time, well, I might have to go back on what I just said about sharing too much. Let's just put it this way...there might have been the possibility that I was pregnant except I thought for sure I couldn't be because of a between-cycles weird bit of monthly-visitor-that-was-totally-out-of-place. This was at the time when I would have begun a round of progesterone (which I had been doing, just in case, in between my periods) but I didn't because it was obviously not necessary. Except a week later my boobs were really sensitive (like, it hurt when I put a shirt on and pulled it down).
I took a pregnancy test, it was positive RIGHT AWAY, and I was able to get on progesterone very quickly. This was no small feat as we were out of town, I needed a prescription from my midwife, and not every pharmacy can fill the prescription (that sounds so mysterious, doesn't it?). Anyway, it was already two weeks later than I should have started the medication, and I thought for sure it would never work, and I was not very hopeful, not particularly sad (defense mechanism?), more like resigned. By the time we got home and I was able to get an appointment, it was well past seven weeks (scary zone from previous experiences), and the monitor picked up the heart beat fairly quickly, and I just cried and cried. The rest of the pregnancy was quite normal; I had some typical aches and pains, but nothing out of the ordinary or worrisome.
And I will never believe anything other than Eliana is a miracle because, really, I started the progesterone late, and there was that odd mid-cycle bleeding (I will never know what that was about), and the truth is that her life is and always has been in the Lord's hands.
Well, did I just say that? Isn't that all I need to remember?
I don't even know what I was writing...Co-op. Right. The main thing is that it is probably no mystery why I am so protective. Even fearful. I know that I should not be this way. However, it is a struggle for me to let Eliana go. To let her go into any public place. Now, I do actually let her go in public places. She is just often attached to me, or sitting in her stroller.
The Rangers baseball game was an exception. And she had a great time. And I had a great time. And no one got violently ill (and there were nine kids and four adults, so the chances were greater for some really bad thing to happen). I (we) survived that experience.
And here we are today, at the Co-op. I won't lie...it was hard. I volunteered to be one of the first moms, because I thought it would help Eliana if she weren't just dropped off the first day, having never done anything like that before. She started crying as soon as we walked into the room, and I said,"I'm right here!" See the monster that I've created?!
Since I was there to help in the room, though, I could not be attached to my daughter. I put her down, and got her involved in playing with the toys on one side of the room. One of the things they will learn this year is that there is a time for this and a time for that. So, at the beginning of the class they play with certain toys, then there is circle time, then center time, then a snack, and finally, playing outside. I'm sure once a month or so has gone by they will begin to get the hang of it.
I have heard the saying,"It is like herding cats," applied to working with small children, but I think it is more like herding ants. They are so busy. And they are always carrying something. And they all go in a different direction at once when they should all be RIGHT HERE instead. They don't want to listen to the book, they want their own book. They don't want that toy that they just yelled for, they want that toy that she has. They want their snack; they're all done. Oh my goodness, I have never turned so many little bodies in a new direction in my life; it was like a dramatic interpretation of a Billy Graham crusade presented by toddlers-they were once going this way, now they are going that way.
In the four days two hours that we were there Eliana both exhibited some of the worst behavior ever and had a great time. She ate up the chalk as well as the play-dough (well, not really, but you know what I mean). She enjoyed the kitchen center (in fact, that was the most popular place...there may be some up-and-coming chefs in this bunch), and loved playing outside. She did not care for sitting on her green square, listening to the story, or anything else that was an organized activity. This speaks volumes about her days at home, I'm sure. Although I suppose I should take some comfort in knowing that there aren't too many two-year-olds who thoroughly enjoy being told what to do.
All told, I would say that it went well. I hope that it continues to be a good experience for her. I know she needs to spread her little wings. She'll fly, she won't fall. Right?
But if she falls, it won't be that far, because I don't let her climb up too high in the trees...
(Letting go is hard, no?)
