This morning, with nary a glance backward, my baby headed off to preschool. He stashed his nap mat in his cubby, hung his backpack up haphazardly and went to sit on the rug with a bunch of other little boys who were assembling a giant puzzle. He asked to join and was soon working with them to put it all together.
Matt and I filled out some paperwork and deposited his lunch in the proper bins in the kitchen and took a few photos. Finally as we were ready to leave, he showed a bit of hesitancy, giving us extra hugs and kisses. Then it was waves and smiles and he was back to the classroom with all of its interesting things.
When I picked him up, he was happily playing outside. From all accounts he’d had a good day. Activities participated in, nap taken (50 min), food eaten. He was glad to see me and Tabby and we got big big hugs and rave reviews of his day away. By the time we got home it was clear he was exhausted. EXHAUSTED. He was acting out big time, getting into loads of trouble and couldn’t handle anything. Within seconds of us putting him to bed (early) he was out.