My girl is growing up
If I keep writing this blog, I'm sure I'll be writing many an entry with that title. Sigh.
Daisy is starting preschool in September. She will be just over three years old. The school, from everything I can see, is a great Montessori school, we're lucky to be accepted there, and I have every reason to believe it'll be a very positive experience. I hope I don't turn into the stereotypical parent for whom preschool is harder than for her own three-year-old, but maybe it's inevitable.
Daisy is potty-trained. She got the whole thing down in two weeks, give or take, and has not had a single accident since that first month of training. (She still wears a pullup at night, of course.) Potty-training was one of the requirements for the preschool, and look at my girl go-- she's got it.
Daisy loves her music class. We recently went up to the big kids' level at the place where we take classes; instead of being one of the older kids in a mixed-age class, she's now among the youngest in a class that ranges from 2.9-year-olds to 5-year-olds. When I see her participating in the class, I can tell she's just about ready for preschool. She gets totally engaged, she sits by herself (often) instead of with me, she involves herself fully and doesn't constantly look to me for reassurance. In this older kids' class, she's learning to play games that have rules, to take direction from the teacher, to wait for her turn and give other kids a turn, etc. I thought it might take some time to adjust, but from day one she seemed like a full-fledged member of the class. (She also, I have to brag, is completely up to the verbal demands of the class, and when our beloved teacher Seth calls on her, she usually responds just as fluently as any of the older kids.)
Sooo... yeah. Not a baby anymore.
I have been realizing lately that I'm just not facing the fact that Daisy isn't a baby anymore... I mean, not fully. I have a hard time putting clothes that are now too small away in boxes. I have a hard time deciding to put babyish toys away. And I keep acting like she's a baby, in certain ways. For example, the other day we had a battle of wills over the fact that she wouldn't try on a pair of purple crocs I thought were especially cute. I was getting frustrated, feeling that she SHOULD try on these crocs, and that she was putting up her will against mine like a typical two-year-old. It took me about a day to admit that, actually, she is old enough now to have a say in what she wears!! I can't be forcing her to wear purple crocs just because I think they're cute. That's treating her like a baby. As silly as it sounds, for some reason, in certain areas, I keep thinking in the baby way... like, "I can still dress her any way I want. She is my baby."
For a two-year-old, Daisy doesn't do much arbitrary "battle of the wills" type of stuff with me. She just wanted to pick her own shoes. It meant so much to her that she got teary-eyed when I kept insisting on the crocs. It made me remember how, when I was a little kid, I hated being barefoot for some reason. I have pictures of myself at Daisy's age sitting in a sandbox wearing socks. I just really hated the feeling of barefootness. And for whatever reason, right now, Daisy wants to wear her sneakers, not sandals or other footwear. I was the one who was wrong in this case, and the two-year-old was right.
She is becoming her own person, and I have to let her. I wouldn't think that would be hard for me, but in certain small ways, it is.
Daisy is starting preschool in September. She will be just over three years old. The school, from everything I can see, is a great Montessori school, we're lucky to be accepted there, and I have every reason to believe it'll be a very positive experience. I hope I don't turn into the stereotypical parent for whom preschool is harder than for her own three-year-old, but maybe it's inevitable.
Daisy is potty-trained. She got the whole thing down in two weeks, give or take, and has not had a single accident since that first month of training. (She still wears a pullup at night, of course.) Potty-training was one of the requirements for the preschool, and look at my girl go-- she's got it.
Daisy loves her music class. We recently went up to the big kids' level at the place where we take classes; instead of being one of the older kids in a mixed-age class, she's now among the youngest in a class that ranges from 2.9-year-olds to 5-year-olds. When I see her participating in the class, I can tell she's just about ready for preschool. She gets totally engaged, she sits by herself (often) instead of with me, she involves herself fully and doesn't constantly look to me for reassurance. In this older kids' class, she's learning to play games that have rules, to take direction from the teacher, to wait for her turn and give other kids a turn, etc. I thought it might take some time to adjust, but from day one she seemed like a full-fledged member of the class. (She also, I have to brag, is completely up to the verbal demands of the class, and when our beloved teacher Seth calls on her, she usually responds just as fluently as any of the older kids.)
Sooo... yeah. Not a baby anymore.
I have been realizing lately that I'm just not facing the fact that Daisy isn't a baby anymore... I mean, not fully. I have a hard time putting clothes that are now too small away in boxes. I have a hard time deciding to put babyish toys away. And I keep acting like she's a baby, in certain ways. For example, the other day we had a battle of wills over the fact that she wouldn't try on a pair of purple crocs I thought were especially cute. I was getting frustrated, feeling that she SHOULD try on these crocs, and that she was putting up her will against mine like a typical two-year-old. It took me about a day to admit that, actually, she is old enough now to have a say in what she wears!! I can't be forcing her to wear purple crocs just because I think they're cute. That's treating her like a baby. As silly as it sounds, for some reason, in certain areas, I keep thinking in the baby way... like, "I can still dress her any way I want. She is my baby."
For a two-year-old, Daisy doesn't do much arbitrary "battle of the wills" type of stuff with me. She just wanted to pick her own shoes. It meant so much to her that she got teary-eyed when I kept insisting on the crocs. It made me remember how, when I was a little kid, I hated being barefoot for some reason. I have pictures of myself at Daisy's age sitting in a sandbox wearing socks. I just really hated the feeling of barefootness. And for whatever reason, right now, Daisy wants to wear her sneakers, not sandals or other footwear. I was the one who was wrong in this case, and the two-year-old was right.
She is becoming her own person, and I have to let her. I wouldn't think that would be hard for me, but in certain small ways, it is.
posted by Sarah Goss at 9:21 PM
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