Abraham is often and suddenly a completely different person. One I don’t care for. One I would immediately kick out if we weren’t related. He falls down and screams over everything. He flails his body like he’s seizing (and I checked, he’s not seizing). He goes from happy to more pissed off than a wet cat in .08 seconds. He has the attention span of a gnat and the temper of The Hulk. Need I go on?
My point…I’m exhausted. I’m sleeping plenty but I’m exhausted. So my husband and I decided it might be a good time to look into preschool programs. I’d like for Abe to spend a few days a week in a learning environment and playing with kids his age. I think he’s the kind of kid who thrives on activity and I’m the kind of mom who thrives on not being screamed at for hours on end. We’re in a position where we could afford a few days a week so I checked out a local program. I loved it, loved everything about it, and started filling out registration forms when more than one person told me I should shop around.
So I visited another. And another.
Do you know how similar these places are? They all say the same things. They all have the same selling points. I mean unless you actually go to a preschool program run out of a bar, it’s tough to find fault in any of them. So I took down lots of notes and started comparing what I could while I was at the office. Prices. Pick up and drop off times. Curricuilums. Philosophies.
Then, my stretched-too-thin brain started spiraling out of control…
What if I’m just trying to pawn him off on someone else because, as it turns out, I’m a terrible mother?
Do people already know I’m a terrible mother and this just seals the deal?
Am I completely ruining Abe’s life if I choose the wrong program??
HOW DO I HAVE NOTHING PLANNED FOR DINNER!??!!!
I nearly made it to the point of full blown panic attack. Seriously. Everything from my ability to mother to my son’s ability to be ANYTHING but a complete and total psychopath started spinning through my head like a top. The past few weeks of questioning my life and trying to commit, living with a small monster, and trying to make decisions that don’t ruin that little monster’s life all caught up with me big time. So I asked someone in my office, jokingly of course, if he had a flask. He led me to the kitchen and there it was: a big, glass bottle of not-water. In the middle of the afternoon, I took a shot of not-water. I’m not going to lie, it helped.
My point is not to turn into an not-water-holic. Or encourage you to drink in the afternoon. But to say that this is a very strange decision to make for your 17 month old. Because if we are ever to do this child-rearing thing again, I’m pretty sure I’m going to require complete sedation for months 16-36. Did anyone else experience this much trouble with this age and/or choosing a preschool??