Having my first child at the almost shocking age of 23 (are we living in Biblical times or what?!) meant that NONE of my friends had babies at the same time as me. My friends weren’t even married. They were out living their best single lives, jet-setting off to Mexico on the weekends. (Ok just kidding they were broke and paying back school loans from our overpriced private university education, but they had the freedom to road trip to exciting locales like Dallas or Lubbock, Texas.) So, it never occurred to me to compare myself to other moms. Not to mention, this was way back in the Dark Ages before social media had really taken off. I was blissfully unaware that I was failing at motherhood by not providing educational field trips and elaborate sensory experiences for my toddler. He was, however, well informed when it came to the drama happening in Genoa City because we rarely missed the 11am showing of The Young and the Restless. He couldn’t tell you who the President of the United States was, but he knew whether Victor and Nikki were together or in the midst of a tabloid worthy breakup.
When Nathan was one and a half, we moved to Las Vegas for a short-term assignment Jared signed up for. This move meant a bonus monthly paycheck, which resulted in some exciting perks for our new life in Las Vegas. Wanting to fully immerse ourselves in the big city life for this brief moment in time, I signed Nathan up for classes at The Little Gym. Okay also I had a newly purchased wardrobe from White House Black Market (because obviously this is where sophisticated stay-at-home moms would shop) and I needed someplace to wear all these fancy new clothes. I pranced into the gym, adorned in a white cowl neck sweater, complete with an oversized gold satin bow and black bejeweled skinny jeans with a toddler at my side. I’m not entirely sure what I THOUGHT these classes would be like, but I didn’t expect that I’d be paying an exorbitant amount for my kid to wander aimlessly around on beams or that the highlight would be lifting up a colorful parachute with a bunch of other dewy-eyed toddlers. Nathan seemed just as excited to run around the neighborhood park, so I figured my money would be better off going towards the gorgeous off the shoulder cream sweater that had just dropped into my new home away from home. So, our stint at The Little Gym was short-lived.
By the time Nathan was four, we had moved back to Abilene, and then back to Houston. It was summer and I was volunteering in the nursery at our church. Having added baby number two to the mix and now pregnant once again, I was not only in a sort of brain fog 24/7 but also trying to juggle life with 2 kids, including one who seemed to always be in a state of distress. On this particular day, I found myself sitting in an overcrowded nursery with a way more experienced mom who also had a four-year-old and she brought up the subject of preschool. Up until this moment, the idea of preschool had never entered my mind. I’m not even sure I was aware that he’d be going to kindergarten in the fairly near future. All of the sudden it became quite apparent that I might in fact be completely unqualified to raise a child. I got the name of the preschool this lady took her kids to and went home resolved to get him enrolled. Little did I know that you don’t just waltz into a preschool and sign up. There are lotteries. Yes, a LOTTERY to get your kid into preschool. You show up and just hope upon hope that you have the winning numbers, and you will be invited to pay a ridiculous amount of money for your kid to make macaroni art and learn sing-song-y rhymes about colors and shapes. Naïve to the difficulties of getting accepted into church preschools, I called the school and found out miracle of all miracles, (because apparently I was MONTHS behind on the whole process!) they had a spot open for MWF 4’s. I signed my life away on the dotted line, threw away any dreams of starting a college fund for him and got him on the fall roster.
That year of preschool was really more of a learning experience for me than for him. I learned that moms are horribly bad drivers and being thrust into the school carline requires more patience than any one person could ever hope to have. I learned that when they say the class family picnic is optional that actually means that you should absolutely go because every other child will be bringing along their entire extended family, and if you fail to show up your kid will be crying alone in a corner of the playground. I learned that throwing together a last-minute homemade Halloween costume, complete with pillow stuffing taped on with blue painter’s tape to create a wizard’s beard is in fact not the norm. It’s easy to get caught up in the comparison game with visuals of families that appear to have it all together thrown in our face constantly. (Although I don’t think many dads are losing sleep over whether their four-year-old is getting an adequate education!) I’m a glass half full kinda gal, and I tend to believe that things generally turn out alright. Nathan’s exposure to preschool that one year didn’t keep him from crying EVERY. SINGLE. DAY for 6 weeks the next fall once he started kindergarten. But honesty, who can blame him? Who would willingly miss out on Jack and Victor battling it out daily in the halls of Newman Enterprises? He found his groove eventually, and now as a senior, he’s in the top 3% of his class. I, however, am still trying to figure out where I can wear a feather trim red pantsuit.
.jpg)
Comments
Post a Comment