I think I was more vaklempt than Sophie.
She was blase when we packed her lunchbox last night for the first time ever. She didn’t have any interest in picking out a first-day-of-preschool outfit. She didn’t get excited until this morning, when I told her she was finally going to school.
“Now?” she asked. “Today?!” She’s been waiting for this day for almost a month, ever since she graduated from daycare at the end of July. We spent August together, having what I viewed as adventures (we went horseback-riding! we got mommy-daughter mani-pedis! I began to wonder who I was), but apparently Sophie viewed all those adventures as only delay-tactics until she was big enough for preschool.
She told me that Care-bear thought maybe she wasn’t old enough.
She asked if we could leave at 7 am, and didn’t seem happy to hear that we got to hang out at home, eating cereal and building lego castles till nearly 9 am. When we finally did get in the car, she said, “Want me to tell you a story? There once was a girl named Sophie — that’s ME! — who went to school in her daddy’s car.” We are driving her daddy’s car, since he’s got mommy-car in Colorado.
This is the first-ever story she has told me that is explicitly about her. Usually, she tells me stories about Princess Isabel Sophie (her name. scrambled), or Cinderella-Rora-Belle (the catch-all princess name that I taught her because I couldn’t remember the difference between Disney’s Princess Aurora and Princess Belle). But now she is a big girl, the star of her own stories.
She only clung to me for 5 minutes or so. Then she ran off to the playground, only asking me to put her good-luck-token Hello-Kitty keychain into her lunchbox cubby, because she was too busy to hold it.