Let's Go Find an Adult
As I sat down in the tiny chair and steeled myself for Pre-K orientation, I began to look around the room at the small desks, the empty bulletin boards, and the other people who were there with me. And I noticed something -- all of the other parents looked so grown up. They definitely looked like parents. Like what my friends' parents looked like when I was a kid. Like mature, capable adults prepared to successfully handle whatever challenges life may throw at them via their children.
And then I had a terrible realization: I'm in the wrong room.
You know where I should be? Freshman orientation. Not for my kid -- don't be ridiculous. For me. I'm totally ready for high school now. I'm confident enough to care less about what others think of me and strong enough to resist peer pressure. I can smoothly navigate a sea of hormones (unless it's PMS). I'm really good at time management, not to mention reasonably responsible. I would kick high school's ass right now. BRING IT.
(But I am likely unfit for freshman orientation at college, because then I'd have to make decisions about an actual career. Major decisions that could alter my entire trajectory in life. That's a no-go. I still don't know what I want to be when I grow up. I was hoping this motherhood thing would work out for me, but so far the pay sucks and the hours are less than desirable and I can't find the training manual anywhere.)
So I sure as hell don't belong sitting here, discussing the ins and outs of Pre-K, a "kindergarten readiness class," for a tiny human as though I am in charge. In charge of everything he needs to know, and guiding him through childhood and adolescence. Can you believe the hospital even let me walk out of there with a kid, like I had the least idea what to do with it? TWICE? I don't know what they were thinking.
These other parents clearly have their shit together. For example, I sat in front of my son's best friend's mom, who is a nurse practitioner. Some days I can't whip up the energy to brush my teeth before bed, and she's raising two kids while literally saving strangers' lives in her spare time.
And the Pre-K teacher...oh my goodness. She seemed all sorts and kinds of capable. I bet she knows how to teach proper pencil technique and can peacefully end a 4-year-old's tantrums and will convince a carbs-only child to eat vegetables all in the same day.
I'm way out of my league here.
The best I'm going to be able to do this year is copy off my neighbor, just like everybody did in Mr. Mayhood's ninth-grade history class. And when things get too hard, and I don't understand the questions (much less the answers), I'll run and hide in the bathroom by the band hall where no one can see me cry.
And if my four-and-a-half-year-old knocks on that bathroom door and says, "Momma! I have a big problem!" then I'll take his little hand in mine and confidently say to him, "Let's go find an adult."
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| Claire Huxtable could really adult. |
And then I had a terrible realization: I'm in the wrong room.
You know where I should be? Freshman orientation. Not for my kid -- don't be ridiculous. For me. I'm totally ready for high school now. I'm confident enough to care less about what others think of me and strong enough to resist peer pressure. I can smoothly navigate a sea of hormones (unless it's PMS). I'm really good at time management, not to mention reasonably responsible. I would kick high school's ass right now. BRING IT.
(But I am likely unfit for freshman orientation at college, because then I'd have to make decisions about an actual career. Major decisions that could alter my entire trajectory in life. That's a no-go. I still don't know what I want to be when I grow up. I was hoping this motherhood thing would work out for me, but so far the pay sucks and the hours are less than desirable and I can't find the training manual anywhere.)
So I sure as hell don't belong sitting here, discussing the ins and outs of Pre-K, a "kindergarten readiness class," for a tiny human as though I am in charge. In charge of everything he needs to know, and guiding him through childhood and adolescence. Can you believe the hospital even let me walk out of there with a kid, like I had the least idea what to do with it? TWICE? I don't know what they were thinking.
These other parents clearly have their shit together. For example, I sat in front of my son's best friend's mom, who is a nurse practitioner. Some days I can't whip up the energy to brush my teeth before bed, and she's raising two kids while literally saving strangers' lives in her spare time.
And the Pre-K teacher...oh my goodness. She seemed all sorts and kinds of capable. I bet she knows how to teach proper pencil technique and can peacefully end a 4-year-old's tantrums and will convince a carbs-only child to eat vegetables all in the same day.
I'm way out of my league here.
The best I'm going to be able to do this year is copy off my neighbor, just like everybody did in Mr. Mayhood's ninth-grade history class. And when things get too hard, and I don't understand the questions (much less the answers), I'll run and hide in the bathroom by the band hall where no one can see me cry.
And if my four-and-a-half-year-old knocks on that bathroom door and says, "Momma! I have a big problem!" then I'll take his little hand in mine and confidently say to him, "Let's go find an adult."
Oh my goodness, Megan, this is wonderful! But, trust me, most everybody in that room is also just faking it while they figure it out, especially if the Pre-K student involved is their first. Parenting is absolutely one of those jobs that there is virtually no way to figure out how to best do it until you are all done.
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