Back to School

You are growing, my Succotash. You have just begun your official year of PreK at Harborlight, which will be your third in the same classroom, with Miss Sue and your friends and Monty the rabbit. I realized just after you and your Dad left this morning that I forgot to pack your nap blanket. I wonder how it will go?

Last night was a watershed moment. We've introducing the idea of you sleeping in your own bed at last. We set up the trundle bed, which I used to sleep in when I was very small, and on which all my sleepover friends crashed throughout my entire childhood. It's been a bit bumpy, with you missing our snuggles and claiming you just needed a break. I promised you that you would get all the snuggles that you needed at bedtime and in the morning, but that you would sleep better without snoring grownups.

Well guess what? Last night you drifted off to sleep in my arms in your bed while I read to you from the Great Illustrated Classics version of Moby Dick. You had a bunny nightlight, glowing red, and a little sticky dinosaur thing that you won as a prize for being so good at the dentist, whom you have named "Mr. Squishy," watching over you. You had Manatee and Henry the Dog (gifted to you when we checked in to our hotel in London at the beginning of the summer), and Chompy (crocodile won with Cora at the fair on Martha's Vineyard last month) and the as yet unnamed red dragon given to you by Claire when we went to play in castle ruins in Wales. I love that you love stuffies. I pulled up the comforter, tucked it around your shoulders, watched you for a few more minutes (I do that, you don't know it, but I do), and then you slept. All night. No wakeups, no crying out. You slept alone in your bed for the entire night for the very first time.

The first time we tried this, about a year or so ago, I missed you terribly. I don't know if I would have parented this way in the absence of a global pandemic in your babyhood, but for a long time I felt constitutionally incapable of having you sleep in another bed, away from my arms, where I couldn't immediately smell your hair and feel your breathing. Fortunately you and I were aligned in this respect. 

I can tell that you are ready for more independence now. And I am ready too. I am so proud of you.

Another thing - yesterday was the last day the pool was open for the season, and I sat shivering in a bathing suit while I oversaw your play in the baby pool during All Out. A small mob of other kids were there, splashing, whining, shouting, snatching, ignoring their parents when summoned for lunch. You were so absorbed in practicing holding your breath, floating on your stomach with your goggles on, looking around, doing projects of your own devising, that all the chaos rolled right by you. You are a self-determined little person. You keep your own counsel. I admire that about you. Not a follower or member of the mob, is Succotash. 

But a growing little boy all the same. You are still four, but only for another month.