Dear Zara,
Taking you to playschool is so hard. I was slightly nervous about the routine – wayward as I have been in my ways – never once thinking anything else would pose a challenge. Turns out that getting that schedule right isn't the hardest thing, it's what happens after that that is. To leave you there and walk away.
It's what they call the 'settling in period', when they allow us parents to anxiously hover around our little ones. The second day you went there, this cute little Montessori playschool in our neighbourhood, I was told that I need not linger any longer; that you had settled in quick and fast. I was relieved. Saved us both the initial hiccups. I saw a few other kids hollering as they were carried inside by the Akka (helper lady) and bid goodbye to by parents at the gate, feeling bad for the kids and the mothers alike, thanking my stars you weren't one of them. But my respite wasn't to last, just like in the previous crib story (Yes, you promptly came back to the bed and mummy's tummy the next day. Now the tummy can't go to sleep without your touch, it seems. Some strange primal connection this is).
Last Thursday you cried when you were taken away by a teacher. I had been waiting with you in the play area for 20mins already because you didn't let me go, when they finally lured you inside with tricoloured balloons. They shut the glass door once you were in. You turned and realized what was happening and let out a cry. In your tears I at once saw distress mingled with what I perceived to be accusation – 'How could you do this to me?! Leaving me behind with strangers' Sigh. Am I imagining too much? Maybe. I'll never know. When you grow up we'll be the ones telling these stories to you, bereft of the tiny details time will take away from our memories. Hence, this blog, in all its irregularity. Hence this post.
Over the weekend you told me, 'Mamma, I don't want to go to school on Monday. I will miss you.' My heart sank. Eager that you build a positive association with going to school, I accompanied you inside on Monday, then yesterday and again today. Monday, you went in glumly (thank god no tears) after half an hour of my hanging around in the lawn with you.
Yesterday, you rushed into my arms and said, 'Mamma, I'm hugging you tight so no one takes me away from you'. How can one not melt at that? Your small, fragile body in the my big arms. Like a sparrow rushing into a mountain, in search of home. I didn't want anyone to take you away from me either, sweetie. But you had to go to school. And I had to pick up my work. While one teacher (aunty, as you all call them) patiently gave you your '5mins mamma...mamma 3mins more please wait. Mamma, 6mins!', another one came a short while later and carried you away. You cried again. I anxiously peered in through the curtains on the side and tried listening, but I couldn't hear any cries. Someone told me you were sulkily playing in a corner. Haha...my darling.
Today, your crying brought on your cough so I waited around until you had calmed down a bit. You said, after a good deal of playing together, 'Mamma, I prrromise you (yes, that's how you say it) I won't ask you to stay after this. Just 1min more' How do you calculate these things? When the teacher carried you inside, you threw your arms and legs around, screaming at her. 'Leave me alooone!' I wanted to laugh and cry both. I did neither and just quietly slipped out, dil par patthar rakh kar.
The moment you go inside though, your cries disappear. As if it's a switch. You observe, you sulk, you reluctantly, eventually, join in the play. But you don't cry. In those few moments of parting, however, my separation anxiety has washed over me and left a dull heartache behind. 'Bacche toh rote hi hain nursery mein', my mum said. 'I used to have tears in my eyes while dropping kids off to playschool', said my mother-in-law. Another mother whose child is also new at this playschool, and about the same age as Zara, sits on a couch in the cafe next door, casually checking her phone while teachers try and settle in her sobbing child. I look at her calm, smiling face greeting me with a sort of dazed look. How does one do this? How do I do this?!
This really does seem like my settling period, much more than yours.
Love,
The Mamma-who-never-quite-wants-to-leave-or-let-go
P.S. - Last night, while putting you to sleep, you asked why I was still on my phone. I explained to you how one of my closest friends was upset, so I was listening and trying to make him feel better. You thought for a few seconds and then said, 'Mamma, you should call him. He will be happy'. I smiled, taken by your response, and said 'How sweet are you, Zara?!' 'Very', you quipped, and snuggled into me. Wise and cheeky. Quite a combo.
