Is happening. I had a lot of anxiety about it, before it started happening, though not for the usual reasons. I’m quite happy for you to pass on to new phases of life, even a little excited for you. I mean, sure, I mourn my ‘baby’ like most mothers; you are the only one I will ever have. But frankly, the older you get, the more interesting you get. At almost-five you say at least one thing every day that just floors me, and you make me laugh. Sometimes even on purpose.
So I had anxiety, but it was because I was (am) terrified that you will be THAT kid. The one that the teacher gives up on almost instantly, and I will have to spend the rest of your school career trying to convince people that you are worth teaching.
You are smart. So, so smart, but stubborn as hell and not conventional by any means. You are a teenager before your time; if someone tells you that “everyone else is doing it”, you will choose to do the opposite. Just because.
The daycare, of course, knows this and compensates for it. I know it, and compensate for it (sometimes poorly, and with yelling). But the public school system is not exactly known for compensating.
So on your first day, I had a lot of anxiety. There was some chaos with the bus, and I was glad I chose to be a helicopter parent for once and show up at daycare to make sure you were comfortable with it (I also showed up at school to make sure you got on it to go back to daycare). There was some chaos with the teacher, and introductions, and you refused to wear your nametag.
(Some wanna-be-helpful parent said to you: “Look, all the other kids are wearing theirs!” and basically sealed THAT fate. I tried: “How will the teacher know who you are?”. “Mom, I will just tell her,” you explained patiently. Hard to argue with that.)
But you went. And you thought it was great. And you come home every day telling me words in French, and that your best friend IN THE WORLD is Charlotte. (Who the fuck is Charlotte?) You aren’t napping anymore so you fall asleep instantly at 8pm and are, in general, more pleasant.
You also wear your Spiderman and dragon costumes to school regularly, and come home telling me that you learned “no hitting” and “no tackling” and “we don’t throw balls indoors at our brothers”. So…there is still some cause for anxiety there.
I mean, for one thing, you don’t have a brother.