Playschool Pangs II

Dear Zara,

The playschool account would be incomplete without telling you what happened the day after I wrote the post, and the day after that day.

That Thursday night, I tried putting you to sleep by telling you how you need to get up early to go to school, to go play and have fun, make friends and so on. You said, 'But I don't want to go. It's no fun.' I was taken aback. You proclaimed you didn't want the trampoline or the slide in the school either, stuff that I know for certain you thoroughly enjoy. So I was able to shake off your announcement as a passing phase. At least, I hoped it was. Later, I even requested your father to take you to playschool for a few days, to try and see if you would be less clingy with him. But for now, it was just you and me, because he was travelling on work. I knew he would've handled this a lot better. At least that's what I felt. So I looked to him for guidance.

In the morning, Srikrishnan advised me not to read too much into these things, that it would help you if we were matter of fact and light about the matter. An hour later, I messaged him saying I was going to cry. I had just left a sobbing, leaky-nosed you behind in playschool. It was so painful, again. All morning you had been chanting that you didn't want to go to playschool. It was tough for me to be light, to laugh about this. I was torn between giving you your time and being around until then, or just letting you cry, and leave. My deepest values, all education theories floated in my head. 'Let the child take the lead', I had held, always. But for how long? Should I wait around until you happily asked me to leave? Would that time ever come? I didn't have any answers. This process was going against my conviction. Your father suggested I pick you up and gently talk to you about your day, assuring you we were right here. He was aching to do it himself, and would, a few days hence. Unfortunately though, that morning I had a meeting and would be meeting you only after you were picked up and back home.

I put my mind to rest and threw myself into the work meeting. With trepidation, I returned home, wondering how you would be. Turned out you were laughing, playing, waiting for me to pick you up and take you home after my meeting. I heaved a sigh of relief. That evening, your Paati spoke to you about how you did enjoy school but were really not admitting it. We had many conversations too, you and I. Sweta didi shared what she had told your cousin Yuvaan and I tried it with you. Explained to you how you were anyway going to go to school, whether you did it happily or grudgingly was your choice. And that you did enjoy, after all. In another post-dinner chat I told you how I was always here, waiting to play with you once I was done with my 'office kaam', when you returned from Paati-Thatha's house. That evenings and nights and mornings were ours.

Just as I was about to put out the lights for the night, you quietly told me, 'Mamma, I won't cry tomorrow. I will go to school with a smile.' I smiled and kissed you goodnight, surprised and yet wondering if this sentiment would last until morning. As soon as you woke up, you sat up in bed and declared, 'Mamma, I'm not going to cry. I will go to school happily.' My heart gave a whoop of joy. We together went over your schedule from morning to night. You repeated it multiple times, including in the car just before getting dropped at school. You told me one more thing when we were headed there. 'Mamma, I'm going to count to ten. Then you can go, okay?' 'Okay', I said with a smile. True to your word, you got off from my arms, held me tight, and counted slowly to ten. I could sense you were being brave. When you were taking long to reach the end, I told you I had to leave before all the kids came out into the play area for yoga. On reaching 10, you let go and walked a few hesitant steps away from me. You looked back just as I was about to leave, and waved a bye. I smiled at you, feeling choked and proud. You had found your own way. You had indeed taken the lead, and helped this rather conflicted mother out of her quandary.

It has been more than a month and a half now. Your hugs during countdown have slowly loosened. Now I'm the one who hugs you tight and gives you a goodbye kiss, asking for one in turn, while you peacefully, smilingly, walk into the playschool waiting to play with your new friends.

Love,
Mamma