Montessori Narcolepsy

When I first started working at the Columbia Montessori School, I was 22 years old and scared out of my mind. My friend Lois convinced me that I should work there with her, that it would be great, and I would love it. I was barely an adult, convinced I didn't actually like kids all that much, and very deeply worried about my ability to turn off my sailor potty mouth around said questionably likable runts.

Turns out I liked it so much that I fell in love with the bad kids and married this tall guy who worked in one of the other classrooms. I don't think any of the rugrats picked up any bad language from me, but if you meet an 11 year old from Columbia who accurately drops f-bombs with total flourish and joy, I'll go ahead and take that bullet.

One of the things I did not love so much was nap time (GIANT FREAKING NO DOY RIGHT HERE, PEOPLE). I remember telling Claire (friend Claire from the STL, not sister Claire from the STL) that the kiddos were so funny, because they'd all be so obviously destroyed with drunken sleepiness, yet still fight me to the end. I was struggling to find the words to explain myself, when I realized that my feelings could be accurately expressed with song: Ben Folds Five, Narcolepsy (off the album The Unauthorized Biography of Reinhold Messner - great album which you should totally listen to repeatedly if you haven't already). The winning line to the song: "I'm not tired! I'm not tired! I just sleep...."

Iris attends her first day of school tomorrow at Columbia Montessori School; Lois will be her teacher. Full circle weirdness is weird, my friends.

I don't know why, but I'm completely nervous for Iris. Blame postpartum hormones, lack of sleep, blah, blah... I don't know. I do know that I had to take Iris to get her final vaccinations before she could legally join the classroom, and while I have been present for every shot she's had prior to today, I never wept loudly while rocking her in my lap quite the way I did this morning. It was just awful. She had already recovered and set to choosing her post-shot present from the treasure chest that the doctor's office so helpfully provides, and I was still over by reception blowing my nose and pulling myself together.

My heart breaks at the thought that she might be confused at the new routine, or get her feelings hurt by one of the big kids in her class (it's a multi-age classroom for 3-5 year olds, and sometimes potty trained 2-year olds). She really likes to hold hands and crawl up into laps. She likes hugs and standing far too close to the adults in the room, and that is just... not how things work there. I know this! I worked there for years!

Of course I know she'll be fine. I am good friends with both of the teachers in her classroom, and I know that these people love her. She will be looked after and she will benefit from the organization that going to school provides so much more than she might ever suffer the learning curve. I know this, but it is still so hard to let it go. This seems redundant, but I feel the need to point out here that I never, ever, evereverever thought I would be this way. I am that mom, who cries when her baby cries and frets over letting her grow up, and might even threaten to cut anyone who tries to hurt my kid. Even if that threat comes in the form of a four year old punk with an agenda. Maybe. Just don't try me...

Fortunately, Iris will only be attending half-days, so nobody will be subjected to her particular brand of not being tired. Listen to Ben. He knows what's up.