doing hard things
Sep. 8th, 2011 12:14 amAfter a cheerful drop-off, Junie's tears started yesterday around snack time when it sunk in that I was really gone, and kept up for... awhile. When I picked her up after lunch she was really subdued, but she still said, when asked, that she had fun and thought she would have fun tomorrow, she had just been a little sad at snack.
This morning she seemed eager to go ("c'mon Mama let's go to school") but when I said it was time for me to leave her face crumpled and, oh, there were tears. We snuggled for a little bit while I told her encouraging things and she stuck her hands up my sleeves and tried to hold on to me, and then I told her I was going to do a hard thing and stand up and go now, and did. The teacher took her to the window to wave goodbye and I blew her kisses from the sidewalk and walked away even though I could hear her still crying.
She was quiet and subdued again at pickup and there were a couple of rounds of tears tonight when the subject of preschool came up, or when she just happened to think of it.
The specific focus of her sad right now is meals; she's not eating her snack or lunch, and she's very hysterically insistent that I should be there for lunch, that I should come help, that the teacher should get me, etc. Making eating the issue is not entirely surprising, since it's probably one of the few things she feels like she can control right now (it was probably going to be either that or toileting, which may yet have its day, although, hey, accident-free preschool attendance so far). In one way, I'm not too worried about it - division of responsibility, I make sure she has access to food, it's up to her whether she eats it or not - but there is an unfortunate feedback thing in which hunger/associated basketcaseness makes it harder to cope with everything else. I think I erred in suggesting that as the preschool day lengthens it's going to be more important for her to eat so she won't be hungry (so far I've just given her a late lunch at home), because now she's worried about that, and, I think, dreading the idea that she's going to have to stay even longer. Have rescripted my talking points with Josh and we'll see if that helps. (I wish they'd let us send things like cookies and juiceboxes, as I feel like one way over the barrier might be the temptation of super-high-value foods. Hm... sausage and olives for Friday?)
So... yeah. I kind of wish I had a chart of typical adjustment patterns to give me a sense of whether this is like the hardest part and it's going to get better from here, or if it's going to get even worse, or what. I am definitely second-guessing myself like crazy (but am also determined to stay the course for at least the rest of the month, if that makes any sense). When I was leaving her this morning I was telling her how part of the deal of preschool is that there are lots of cool things to do but I couldn't stay, and the teacher chimed in with "Mama has to go to work", and I was just like "I don't work" (not real smoothly but, y'know, attention on tiny heartbroken child; the teacher was like, "ohhh, that explains, yesterday, we said you were at work and she kept insisting you were at home"), which just served to remind me that I don't *have* to be doing this to her, I just thought it was a good idea. (Goals: meet other children, introduction to idea of going to school, do some fun stuff that Mama didn't come up with, get some inevitable communicable illnesses out of the way before advent of actual academics, get adjusted to some out-of-home care looong before any possible younger sibling to avoid feeling of being shoved out and replaced.) And I still think our goals are good goals... but then, I would think that. I keep thinking about the burn scene in James Morrow's _City of Truth_ and how one could claim any number of things were for your child's own good and if they were normative in your culture, you'd just have no way to evaluate their barbarity... I mean, I'm sure my savannah ancestors didn't force their babies into institutional care. Industrial society is really weird! Except here we are, so we might as well live in it! Except... gaaah.
What I am telling myself is that I am trying to make her world larger, not smaller; this is a value I've chosen as a major parenting value, and so that's how I can evaluate. What I am telling myself is that, in fact, I do not want her to grow up shielded from ever trying to do something hard. (She might have to abandon *her* crying baby someday...) What I am telling myself is that, yes, part of why she's stuck having to do this is to compensate for my own failings (if I had better social abilities, she might have been able to encounter other kids outside of an institutional setting), but that was always inevitably going to be true in some fashion.
I still really wish I had been able to find her a school where she could attend half-day. Full day is just too long, it's way too much to expect of her so suddenly, plus half-day would make the eating thing a non-issue. But there's only so hard I can kick myself (not very) for not magically knowing I needed to do preschool applications a full year in advance, so, we're just going to have to muddle through this somehow. (Mixed ages might also be nice; there's an elementary-aged child of one of the teachers (I assume) there in the mornings who Junie very much wants to talk to, and I totally bet she'd eat snack with an inspirational role model to follow. And littles should totally be learning things by observing bigs. Stupid industrial age-segregation... but that's a different rant.) At least it's just three days a week; we get a break tomorrow, before we find out if the third time's the charm, or if it doesn't get better just a little bit worse.
This morning she seemed eager to go ("c'mon Mama let's go to school") but when I said it was time for me to leave her face crumpled and, oh, there were tears. We snuggled for a little bit while I told her encouraging things and she stuck her hands up my sleeves and tried to hold on to me, and then I told her I was going to do a hard thing and stand up and go now, and did. The teacher took her to the window to wave goodbye and I blew her kisses from the sidewalk and walked away even though I could hear her still crying.
She was quiet and subdued again at pickup and there were a couple of rounds of tears tonight when the subject of preschool came up, or when she just happened to think of it.
The specific focus of her sad right now is meals; she's not eating her snack or lunch, and she's very hysterically insistent that I should be there for lunch, that I should come help, that the teacher should get me, etc. Making eating the issue is not entirely surprising, since it's probably one of the few things she feels like she can control right now (it was probably going to be either that or toileting, which may yet have its day, although, hey, accident-free preschool attendance so far). In one way, I'm not too worried about it - division of responsibility, I make sure she has access to food, it's up to her whether she eats it or not - but there is an unfortunate feedback thing in which hunger/associated basketcaseness makes it harder to cope with everything else. I think I erred in suggesting that as the preschool day lengthens it's going to be more important for her to eat so she won't be hungry (so far I've just given her a late lunch at home), because now she's worried about that, and, I think, dreading the idea that she's going to have to stay even longer. Have rescripted my talking points with Josh and we'll see if that helps. (I wish they'd let us send things like cookies and juiceboxes, as I feel like one way over the barrier might be the temptation of super-high-value foods. Hm... sausage and olives for Friday?)
So... yeah. I kind of wish I had a chart of typical adjustment patterns to give me a sense of whether this is like the hardest part and it's going to get better from here, or if it's going to get even worse, or what. I am definitely second-guessing myself like crazy (but am also determined to stay the course for at least the rest of the month, if that makes any sense). When I was leaving her this morning I was telling her how part of the deal of preschool is that there are lots of cool things to do but I couldn't stay, and the teacher chimed in with "Mama has to go to work", and I was just like "I don't work" (not real smoothly but, y'know, attention on tiny heartbroken child; the teacher was like, "ohhh, that explains, yesterday, we said you were at work and she kept insisting you were at home"), which just served to remind me that I don't *have* to be doing this to her, I just thought it was a good idea. (Goals: meet other children, introduction to idea of going to school, do some fun stuff that Mama didn't come up with, get some inevitable communicable illnesses out of the way before advent of actual academics, get adjusted to some out-of-home care looong before any possible younger sibling to avoid feeling of being shoved out and replaced.) And I still think our goals are good goals... but then, I would think that. I keep thinking about the burn scene in James Morrow's _City of Truth_ and how one could claim any number of things were for your child's own good and if they were normative in your culture, you'd just have no way to evaluate their barbarity... I mean, I'm sure my savannah ancestors didn't force their babies into institutional care. Industrial society is really weird! Except here we are, so we might as well live in it! Except... gaaah.
What I am telling myself is that I am trying to make her world larger, not smaller; this is a value I've chosen as a major parenting value, and so that's how I can evaluate. What I am telling myself is that, in fact, I do not want her to grow up shielded from ever trying to do something hard. (She might have to abandon *her* crying baby someday...) What I am telling myself is that, yes, part of why she's stuck having to do this is to compensate for my own failings (if I had better social abilities, she might have been able to encounter other kids outside of an institutional setting), but that was always inevitably going to be true in some fashion.
I still really wish I had been able to find her a school where she could attend half-day. Full day is just too long, it's way too much to expect of her so suddenly, plus half-day would make the eating thing a non-issue. But there's only so hard I can kick myself (not very) for not magically knowing I needed to do preschool applications a full year in advance, so, we're just going to have to muddle through this somehow. (Mixed ages might also be nice; there's an elementary-aged child of one of the teachers (I assume) there in the mornings who Junie very much wants to talk to, and I totally bet she'd eat snack with an inspirational role model to follow. And littles should totally be learning things by observing bigs. Stupid industrial age-segregation... but that's a different rant.) At least it's just three days a week; we get a break tomorrow, before we find out if the third time's the charm, or if it doesn't get better just a little bit worse.
no subject
Date: 2011-09-08 12:04 pm (UTC)