I just dropped Emmie off at her weekly toddler cooking class. This is her second time going. Last week, when I took her, I expected that I would stay and supervise. That's how all her other baby classes have been. But when I saw the other moms leaving, I looked at the teachers with huge question marks in my eyes. "Should I... go?" I asked hesitantly.
The teacher smiled. "Yup! She'll be fine," she encouraged. She must be used to moms with separation anxiety.
Emmie was already off playing (she has even more confidence than I did as a kid, according to my mom). I tried to give her a wave, but she didn't see me.
Slowly, I left, glancing backwards with each few steps. I sat in the car for a minute. I'm not going to lie; I cried a little.
Does that seem ridiculous? Ever since Emmie turned 2, she's been reaching milestones at an exponential rate. We've been potty training her, and lately she's switched to pull-up diapers. We put her highchair away; now she sits in a booster seat at the kitchen table. She got her big girl bed, and she's transitioned to it quite naturally. Last week, we took her to the pediatrician, and we didn't need to schedule another appointment. She doesn't need to see the doctor again for a whole year! Now, I take her to class and she does her own thing.
This is uncharted territory for me. I'm lucky to say that Emmie and I are almost always together. Sure, I've left her before with my folks or Bruce's, my brother or a friend, but I always knew what was going on. I had a good idea what it would be like at their house or mine. When I would return, I would get a run-through of Emmie's actions. Now Emmie is making her own memories, having her own experiences, ones that I cannot share or really know.
Last week I ended up going to a nearby thrift store I've been meaning to check out. I browsed the knick-knacks absentmindedly, wondering what my child was doing.
When I picked her up, she was already bundled in her coat and hat. She eyed me, but continued to run around the play area. She hadn't missed me at all. "How was she?" I asked her teacher.
"She was great! No problems at all. In fact, I think she enjoyed the snack more than any of the kids," the teacher laughed.
That's my girl. She told me what she ate on the ride home: celery, peanut butter, and raisins, a.k.a. 'ants on a log'. She had a blast.
This week, I was prepared to leave her. I knew I would walk here to this bakery café. I brought my laptop; I had a plan. I kissed Emmie goodbye, and she skipped away.
I guess we're both growing up.
No comments:
Post a Comment