You started school this week. It's been rough. You're fine when you're dropped off, but on Monday and Wednesday you cried as soon as the car door closed in the pick up line. You don't tell us much, which is weird, because you've never been short on words. I don't know if this is just your way of trying to adjust or if there's something wrong. Maybe you're just tired. Your teacher says everything seems fine, and Friday was much better.
I ask you each day who you've played with and both Monday and Wednesday you responded, "Just by myself." I don't know if that's true or if you just don't want to talk, or if you don't remember, but it makes me a little bit sad every time. Your teacher assured me that you play with the other kids and get along well with them, but I can't help but wonder. I didn't think this would be true, but I really want you to fit in with your classmates. I mean, I didn't want you to be an outcast or anything, but I just didn't think I'd be as worried about you making friends as I do about how you're treating people and what you're learning.
While I do want you to fit in and make friends, you've got a long 14 or so years of schooling ahead of you. And when I look at high school students who "fit in" the most and what they have to do to get there, I think that maybe I'd rather you not. I know, I know . . . it's only preschool. I'm being neurotic. Right now all you have to do to fit in is to play nicely. And I want that for you.
We've entered this new stage. Even though you sometimes still call me Mama or Mommy, I've become mostly, "Mom." You sit on my lap less than you used to. You cuddle for shorter periods of time than you did before. I've known this was coming, but it doesn't make it any easier. When I call you my baby, you're quick to correct me.
You're my big boy. You're my favorite 3-year-old ever. I love you!