Preschool Meltdown

I've been fortunate so far, and a little bit of an ass.  My daughter, up until today, has always thrilled at the idea of school.  She gets dressed quickly, eats her breakfast and is excited to be whisked out the door, loaded into the car and dropped in her preschool classroom.  That's the fortunate part.  The ass part of it has to do with how I looked at the other parents whose kids would cry in the morning.  Well, let's just say I thought one way and now...not so much.

Today didn't look to be much different than any other day.  Shea woke up and snuggled in the bed while I was in the shower.  She dressed without a fuss.  It was a new outfit her Noni gave her.  The bright green pants with the pink hoodie shirt with colored buttons kind of thrilled her.  She liked that it had a pocket for her hands in the front.  She even found a picture she had colored and asked if she could take it to school to give to her teacher.  A normal morning.  A normal pleasant morning.

Even as we walked down the sidewalk toward school, even as we descended the stairs to her classroom, even as we moved down the hallway toward the door, there was no indication for what was about to happen.  The moment we stepped into the classroom, she was on me.  She gripped my leg like a wrestler trying to upend me.  She wasn't hugging my leg, she was gripping it.  I felt the tips of her fingernails digging into my inner thigh.  She was determined to never let me go.

I tried to find a quiet corner to explain to her that she had to stay at school.  The teacher tempted her with stories, puzzles, colors, and any other activity that might distract her but Shea wouldn't let go of my neck or leg.  She was ON ME. 

It finally became time for me to leave.  I had to go to work and the teachers looked at me and said, "Go.  Seriously, we do this all the time.  Go."  I hesitated.  I've never really had to leave Shea when she's like this.  Not with "strangers" anyway.  I mouthed an apology and the teacher's aide smiled back at me.  She took Shea from my arms.  Shea immediately erupted into a scream that could melt steel.  It was hot with rage and disappointment and sadness.  At least that is what it felt like to me as I turned from her outstretched fingers and walked away.  I said, "I love you, Shea, but I have to go," and I turned and left the room.

I debated walking past the windows of the classroom to peek in and see if she was settling down but I was afraid she would see me and it would start her up all over again.  So, I simply left the classroom, left the building, crossed the street and got in my car.  I feel like a criminal, like I've fled the scene of the crime. 

Today's a long day at school.  I won't see Shea again until 7 o'clock tonight.  I miss her terribly and will be weighed down all day with the guilt of my "abandonment".  Ahh, parenthood.