“Age is just a number”
It seems the older I get, the more important age becomes. Not just mine. My husband’s, my kids’, my pets’. Mine is an ever-moving number that i have not yet settled on … i’m considering sticking with 35 from now on. It’s a good solid number. It’s a number that says i’ve survived my 20’s. I even came out of it with a husband! It says i’ve had enough life experience to know a thing or two … but definitely not three. Do not count on me for three absolute wisdom-based experiences.
It says i’m aware time is ticking away, but i don’t feel like i still have to cram everything into a minute like i did in my twenties. Oddly, that’s when you have the most time, but you feel it all has to matter. .. and you do not appreciate sleep as much as you do in your thirties.
So my daughter just turned 3. I’ve been reliving all the wonders and horrors that a three year old puts a parent through. I’ve been able to see preschool. I didn’t see it when she was 2. She was still my little babygirl. One word. Babygirl. She liked needing me still. She was independent, but only if i was there to witness it. I didn’t want to think about preschool for many reasons. I liked being at home with my napping, pleasant toddler. She wasn’t potty trained, so i told myself it was not yet an option.
We are only elbow deep into 3 and i’m ready for preschool. She’s now potty trained, and fighting naps, so preschool is a’callin. Being a stay at home mom has it’s challenges. One of them should not be a non-napping kid home seven days a week.
Along with this fact is the reality we are moving in a few weeks. We are moving to a district that has preschool. HUZZAH!
However, it is not up to the parents at what age this is allowable. It’s up to the calendar. My daughter missed the age cutoff by a week and a half. As September is the most common month for birthdays, i’m sure many other people have this same frustration, but DAMN! So close.
The more i think about sending her to school, the more i think of what it will look like for her. She’s a tall, strong 41lb 3 year old. And that’s today. What is she going to be like when it’s actually time to start school?! She’s going to be the size of a first grader in preschool. I keep picturing her as the Stay Puft Marshmallow man stomping through a class room knocking over blocks and stealing sandwiches. .. with pig tails and a smile.
I really hope she will be one of many who will be starting preschool at 4. She will always be one of the taller girls in her class (like her mommy) so I just hope it all starts on the right path. For some reason I was always drawn to the smaller, frail kids who needed a protector. I don’t want that for “Helga”. I want her to be the tallest and mentally strongest. I want her to call the shots and play the games, and run the playground, diplomatically.
Soon after she began to walk, she decided furniture was just a guideline to where we wanted to keep her in the house. It was not out of the ordinary for her to push and move an ottoman out of her path. Relocate a dining room chair. Push her pack n play closer to the TV. This earned her the nickname “Helga” and it’s a name I hope will only be called out with love and admiration by her family, and not something the frail girly boys and mean girls call her on the play ground because they are jealous of her size and Super Powers.
I wish the districts could take into account a child’s size, mentality, intelligence, and overall readiness for school rather than just an arbitrary date on a calendar. I suppose my son would have been refused until he was 6, though.