In comparison with yesterday, at least. He only cried for about five minutes, and calmed down before I got back to the classroom with the adjustment counselor. I carried him in again, and did the hand off, his teacher took him out of my arms and held him back from chasing me out the door.
And he did great, yesterday. In the end, after all. He did get thru the whole day, and when his teacher called at 1:30, she assured me that he was okay during the day. Shy, reserved, but in the end, he did talk to other kids and participate.
But even knowing that he's doing so much better, even knowing that school is what's right for him, I'm still a bit wistful and sad today. There's a couple of different reasons. First - Sam is a child who really just genuinely loved being home. Given the choice between going out and staying home, he'd stay home. He likes home stuff, not just watching television or playing on the computer, but building forts and playing with his "guys", the little plastic figures. He loves cooking with me, or vacuuming the rug, or playing with his little sister. He's a homebody. And now his days are spent at school. Which is kind of sad to me. Not rational, I know that. But still... I feel sad for him. This isn't what he'd want to do, and for most of his life, his wants have been pretty much the same as his needs. He wanted a lot of time at home, and I felt, and Marc felt, that he needed that - so we made the sacrifices necessary for him to have a stay at home parent.
Plus there's a sense of loss, I think, whenever your child reaches a milestone. The first bite of solid food, the first step, etc. It's wonderful and amazing and fabulous that he's reached this age. That he's big enough for big boy school, and I'm immensely proud of how well he's handling it. But I miss my baby. I miss him at home with me.