It's been a rough week. After parting with Nora, I was both sad and excited to have a couple of days with Solo entirely to myself before he started pre-school. Monday we stayed in our pj's for way too long, watched cartoons, and didn't drive anywhere. It was great... Besides the continual hitting and scratching and growling of which I was the victim of. What happens magically when your child turns 3 that turns them into mini monsters?!? I'm convinced it's some kind of cruel joke played on those of us who smugly thought we were home free with an angelic child. Hmph.
Yesterday was a repeat of the hitting and scratching and growling, except without the 3 hour nap. So, I'll leave the rest to your imagination. All I kept thinking was pre-school could not come at a better time. All of the sudden this child needs structure and discipline and some kind of stimulation that apparently I am not adequately providing. Somehow we made it through the day with a park visit, a trip to the play place at Burger King and the library for new storybooks. Needless to say he was snoring by 7:15 p.m. Sigh.
After a night of tossing and turning with first day of school jitters (that'd be me), today started out rough with Solo falling off the bed at 5:30 a.m. Mr. P & I felt absolutely awful. What a terrible way to start your first day of school! We pumped him with ibuprofen, a hearty breakfast, and let him pick out his outfit for his first day of school. He was rearing to go by 7:15 a.m., bringing me my shoes and literally pushing me out the door. He refused to go potty because he insisted he wanted to "pee in my classroom." That's enthusiasm, people.
My baby is not a baby anymore.
I consider making it to 10:00 a.m. without being a teary mess quite the accomplishment. After giving Solo kisses goodbye at 8:00 a.m. when the bell rang, I went straight to our favorite park and walked the 3 mile loop. I got passed by several old men speed walkers, but other than that it was glorious. Now I'm at Starbucks chugging an Americano with cream and munching on grapes while surfing the interwebs. I've got a couple of hours to kill and can't go home because our cleaning lady is there.
I think I could get used to this.
Don't hate me.
Remember that in two months I'll have baby vomit in my hair and legs entirely too hairy and absolutely no free time.
Soaking it in while I still can.