Such a hard day.

Wow. Today took the wind out of my sail. Today was the first day of kindegarten for my daughter. She wasn't able to start on the first day of school last week, due to a freaky virus, and subsequent ear infection. For the past week, I had been very eager to take her to school. However, when I pulled up this morning to hand my child over to the *institution*, I immediately froze. I could feel hot tears well up in my eyes, as I plastered on a forced smile for my daughter. "We're here!" I announced, trying not to choke. My daughter rounded up her much-too-big backpack, and Hello Kitty lunch bag. With coach-like support, I told her that today was going to be a lot of fun, and it would be nice to meet new friends. She put on her gameface, and we waited outside the white fence. She asked me why we were waiting. We had arrived ten minutes early, because I didn't want her to be late for her first day. I also wanted to take pictures of her arriving at school, entering school, gleefully meeting her teacher, etc. The drop off was brief though. Her teacher came out, and said hello, and quickly brushed her inside. Where was my pomp and circumstance? I felt cheated, and not ready to go. I asked the teacher if I could go inside, and watch for awhile. Sure, I was granted that. Inside, there was a room filled with toys, and this room served as a convergence for multiple classes. My daughter, feeling shy, made an valiant effort to socialize. A smile here, a comment there, my baby was making a real effort to reach out. The other children looked disinterested, and walked away. My insides were ripping apart, and I felt the air drain from my lungs. Still plastered with a muted smile, I encouraged my daughter to play with a boy in the corner, playing with foam blocks. Another teacher walked by and introduced him, and then finished the introduction with, "but he doesn't ever like to smile." The boy who had only been at school for a week, was already wrapped in a label. He looked at me with curious eyes, and then back at his blocks. My daughter looked at me and grimaced, as if waiting for a clue. I grimaced back, as I didn't have one. Finally it was time to go to her classroom. The kids lined up, and my daughter was instructed to join in. They marched to their classroom, and put their things away. The teacher introduced my daughter to her almost all-boy class. The bitty soldiers then lined up on the circle mat, and sat down to do roll call. I could hear my daughter, clearly, say hello, when her name was called. She was pensive, but strong. My legs were weak, and my stomach churned in a knot. The kids were then instructed to stand up and sing the good morning song. It was a new song than what she sang at pre-school, and she turned around in mid-song and gave me the grimace again. I shrugged as my answer, and she turned again. Finally, it was time to do the pledge of alliance. One boy was squirming, and was reprimanded firmly. This was serious, and this was a time to be respectful. The voice boomed, and I could see my daughter's back straighten - and I could sense she was scared of this new authority, and important protocal. After the flag was put away, they lined up again. It was time to go outside and play. I saw my daughter with a smidgen of smile on her face when the keyword "play" was announced. This was my time to leave. Take the smile, take the high-note and bail, I told myself, as this may be my only chance. I patted her on the shoulder and told her to have a great day, and told all the kids to have fun. With a stoic stare ahead, she nodded her head. Keep it together I told myself. I don't remember walking out of the school, but some how there I was at my car door. I realized I had forgotten to lock my door before. And the second my hand touched the car door handle, it hit me like a wave of despair. And, just like that, my daughter was no longer a baby anymore.