Cliche Mama

As I get deeper into the role as Ollie's mom, I'm amazed at how much of a big fat cliche I actually have become.  Case in point -- day one of ollie's toddler preschool program.  I was so very excited when we made the decision to send Ollie to an amazing program twice a week.  I am constantly thinking of what I can do to make this kid the happiest, most social, polite, sweetest and smartest boy on the block --- art class, swimming, soccer, music, playground, museums, playdates (I'm actually kinda impressing myself as I type this)..... and because he is a 21 month old boy, most of these classes and activities involve him clawing at the door to get out, climbing on the nearest table to dance like Paris Hilton, and trying to hack into the fire extinguisher in the room.  Obviously money well spent!

Soo the allure of a drop off program that included structure, gym class and socialization was perfect!  Despite the few hiccups at drop off time when he acts like I am giving him up for adoption, things are going well (or so they tell me at pick up.....yet my gut tells me they are just being nice to the crazy mom with the disheveled hair).

The problem is mostly with me.  First problem -- what am I supposed to do with two hours of free time?  I literally dont even know what to do with myself.  Who says that?!?!?  Me!   So, what I do is sit in the cafe in the building where his school is, shoveling pumpkin bread and Vitamin water zero, so that I can try to catch a glimpse of his face for 15 seconds as he heads into the basketball area of the gym for his sports time.  Let me digress for one moment -- this cafe is filled with very serious healthy worker outer people who order kale and amino acids and chia seed meals.  I overhear their convos with words like vinyasa and barre and quinoa.  The cafe has a small stash of things like pumpkin bread when riffraff like me happens to stumble into the joint.  

I hear the elevators open (the school is two floors away from the gym part) and hear the quiet murmur of a gaggle of toddlers in a wagon........ I literally jumped out of my seat and ran as close as I could get and HID BEHIND A POLE, so I could see him but he wouldn't be able to see me.   Seeing your whole entire heart, siting there in a wagon with his friends, under the direction of his teachers is a feeling I've never experienced -- sooo weird.  I seriously had to stop myself from yelling "WAIT! STOP! THAT'S MY BABY, GIVE HIM BACK!"

Buuut I didnt.  As the wagons went out of sight and into the basketball court area, I retreated back to my seat, realizing how ridiculous all these fabulous kale eating people must think I am...but I didnt care, because I saw my Ollie and he wasn't crying.  He was happy.  That's everything.  As I type this, I am crying - this absolutely excruciating privilege of  raising this beautiful boy is just so much!  I sometimes don't think I can even keep going, it is so so hard.  As with all moms, the guilt, the worry, the fear that I've messed him up, the terror in my bones of the thought of him ever being hurt or bullied or scared, that he could fall into the wrong crowd and do drugs, or my absolute worst nightmare --> that he could rebel against the sporty prep style I have created for his wardrobe and start wearing black eye makeup or the like. HA!

My little ginger on his first day of class...and a monogrammed lunch tote!