Dear Baby Girl, I struggle to write this without becoming That Parent. You know, the one that prattles on and on about her remarkable kid. like the kid is a quilted apron smock crafted from men's ties. Ahh, look how brilliant! I made her myself!
But the honest truth is that Daddy and I do think you are remarkable, that you are an evolving masterpiece with uneven bangs.
Thank you for inviting us for lunch at PreK this week, and for setting the table off to the side with the vase and the flowers and the napkins with rings. Thank you for pointing out The Listening Station in your classroom where you can hear the story of How I Became a Pirate. Thank you for eating your lunch and giggling and waiting for clean-up inspection by your teacher. Thank you for this peek into your little universe of preschool discovery.
This week I got to see you in a new environment, and what I saw was powerful. Baby Girl, you have confidence. You move about your classroom with poise and a certain level of comfort, trusting that you will do well and be treated well because you are good at all this, because you treat others well. I wish I could bottle all of that up, seal it with wax and preserve it, and then dole it out in the doses that you will need throughout your life.
But somehow I know that you are going to be fine. I have to quell all the anxious voices that argue otherwise. You are going to be fine.
When I tucked you in today, there on your cot in the PreK classroom, all snuggled with your Curious George, you were my baby for just a few fleeting moments. I can't bottle those moments either, even though I so desperately want to, because I, too, will need them in doses throughout my life. All I can do is be thankful for this opportunity. I know that you got a special tag on your cubby because it was your week to have lunch guests, but Daddy and I are truly the VIPs.