Tuesday, August 12, 2014
When you are pregnant with your first child, people offer lots of advice.
They tell you birthing horror stories.
Folks give you the ins and outs, what has (or hasn't) worked for them, and insights into all aspects of child-rearing.
However, nobody tells you, to quote from Paul Harvey, "the rest of the story."
It is completely against the genetic code of women to tell everything about childbirth.
And my sisters in the trenches of motherhood also never told me how your heart breaks when your child's does.
Just like this summer's earlier heartbreak of unexpectedly losing Greta, yesterday's beginning of the school year found Diva in tears.
She had been looking forward to starting her new school and was excited at all of the new possibilities it would bring. So imagine my surprise when I pulled up to the carpool lane and she had a stoic look on her face.
I asked how her day went, expecting to have a chatterbox in my car, but instead I was answered with a flat, "Fine."
I carried on quizzing her about her classes, teachers, new friends, etc. and she just sat there, biting her lip so I wouldn't see it quivering. I looked at her and noticed the tears in her eyes and asked what had happened.
My mind was racing with thoughts of bullies or mean girls or feeling overwhelmed by the new and much different curriculum or stern teachers or embarrassment or a thousand other simultaneous horrible scenarios.
She finally answered with, "I miss my old school."
That was it.
Longing for the familiar and comfortable.
The realization that she would no longer be with those teachers and friends that she held so dear.
Hers and mine.
I tried to get rid of the tears in my own eyes before attempting to convince her to dry hers.
I let her know that it was okay to be sad at first but we had to embrace our new life and move forward.
After a couple of minutes of sitting in silence, I said something off-the-wall and we laughed.
1-4-3 DM and your tender heart that is directly connected to mine.