While it offers vast opportunities for a child to learn the fundamentals of socialization and classroom etiquette, it may also begin to strip away traces of childhood innocence.

For the first time, Babisodes (who is no longer a baby) is attending preschool four days a week.  Since there is real a possibility she will be attending Kindergarten next fall, this is an attempt to build her social skills with several half days of preschool per week.  We hope that this will help to provide a smooth transition, rather than throwing her straight into Kindergarten 5 days a week cold turkey.

In just a few short weeks, she has already made great strides.  Despite the fact that she is the youngest in her class by at least several months, her teachers have assured me that she is keeping up with her peers and making strong social connections.

Sounds like pride swelling news for any parent, right?

Now before I begin to sound like a curmudgeon mom, allow me to start off by saying I am very proud of my daughter.  I relish in her sudden stockpile of knock-knock jokes.  I grinned ear-to-ear when she was able to greet every classmate by name in the second week of school. And her sharpening skills for letters and numbers amaze me each day as she brings home heaping stacks of crafts and projects (how do parents fit all this crap on their refrigerators?).

However, while her intellectual, fine motor, and social skills refine, the preschool environment has nurtured  personality traits we have never seen before.

Traits I am unsure if I was prepared for just yet.

Babisodes leaves class every day holding hands with a male classmate.  She only talks about her boy friends (notice they’re 2 separate words).  And she provides a daily report of which boys attended class and which did not.

Despite our efforts to nudge her in the direction of her female peers, she seems completely apathetic.

She has also developed a new skill for bullying.

…and talking back.

Oh, and let’s not forget the classic eye-roll and exasperated sigh.

Especially when mom wants to snap a photo of her in costume before the preschool Halloween party.

(The look of 4-year old disdain)

After 4,367 attempts to get her to smile, this was the best I got.

Please don’t tell me this is “just a phase” that will last 20 years.

I was tempted to Photoshop in heavy dark eyeliner, long wispy bangs and black nail polish.  However, I don’t think I could handle the image of an emo 4-year old.

I suppose I should be thankful though.  She did excitedly request to wear the same Minnie Mouse costume she wore last Halloween all over again.  Saved me a few bucks.

I just hope it’s not because all the boys missed how cute she was in it last year.

In fact, timing is one of those things I have always been out of sync with.

All of my life, I grappled with it. Such as when to tell a guy I am no longer interested in him. The time never seemed right. So I often took a different approach, like prodding the poor bastard until I drove him nuts enough to want to break up with me.

And damn those “I love you’s.” I can’t count the number of times I’ve shared that awkward, unreturned I Love You moment with someone.   My unsightly track record must have dashed all of my confidence in executing any form of verbal affection.

Because poor Dadisodes. I think I delivered my first I Love You to him via text message. Back when text messages cost $5 bucks a character to send, and double that to receive.  

Would have been cheaper to have Hallmark tell him with dancing hearts in an e-card. 

Anyhow, throughout the years, my affinity for poor timing has never been resolved. After thirty-something years I am still clueless.

Every time Dadisodes screws up,  I bank the moment for leverage against him later.  But I never seem to be able to cash them in at the right time.  Usually not until later. Much later. Like way after their Sell By date when they are no longer effective.

So with this pregnancy I’ve been especially cautious with timing, particularly about when to break the news to Babisodes.

It is a delicate situation after all.   

We knew we wanted to keep it under wraps as long as possible since she can barely make it 1 day without asking when her next birthday is. Seriously, the constant questions and the nagging can drive you nuts. Because once the cat is out of the bag, I know my sanity will wear thin under the assault of unbridled toddler anticipation.  So I guess I just hoped to cut down on some of the madness during the 9 months.  Plus, we wanted to make sure we made it through the hairy waters of the first trimester before we got her hopes up for a sibling.

However, I’m now at 14 weeks. We are definitely into the second trimester.

But I’m still hesitant to share the news with my 4-year old. Call me crazy, but I feel as if once I make it past my big ultrasound at 18 weeks, I will have more answers for her. Because right now, all I have is a black and white image of a lima bean inside my uterus to show her. That’s it.  Plus I have no plans to explain what a uterus is. 

But my daughter is a pretty smart cookie. She can spot anything out of the ordinary a mile away. She’s even pointed out the slight differences in the décor between two Chuck-E-Cheese locations.

So as my belly quickly grows (seriously, if I chew gum, I turn into the blueberry chick in Willy Wonka), I think I’m running out of time.

Because she is totally onto me.

Alright, so she can almost point out anything out of the ordinary.  Because that rack she has going on…

SO not an equal comparison.

“When will I have my birthday again?”

And who can blame her? I have distinct memories of wishing I could attend the same big kid elementary school as my older brother. Then in high school, I remember crossing off the days I would no longer be a bottom feeding freshman.

Is there an innate desire to yearn for what lies ahead? I suppose I raised this question because I have never seen a child say, “I love being ten. I wish I could be ten forever.”

I know I certainly never felt that way. Time seemed to pass at a turtles pace throughout childhood, always looking forward to the next holiday or day off from school. It was not until I hit my mid-twenties that I wished timed would slow down.  Actually, just freeze for a while.  The prospect of thirty was not a welcome one.

However, thirty came and went, with plenty of milestones passed along the way. Things such as buying a home… twice, having a child, moving across the country, and switching careers. Events that seemingly accelerated the passing of years.

Last year has been no different. In a blink of an eye, my baby turned four, our family went from making ends meet and saving money to unemployment and digging deep into our life savings.  After a year long struggle with trying to conceive we have finally been rewarded with an early baby bump.

However, what I have learned since I was young and wishing I could be madly in love forever, is that the only constant in life is change.

Time stands still for no one, and there are no guarantees for tomorrow. Although the light at the end of the tunnel may represent new possibilities, it will not be the only dark and narrow passageway that lies ahead.

Last week, after a year of struggling with precancerous cervical cells and treatments, my pap smear returned with unexpected NORMAL results (even though my last biopsy four months ago yielded abnormal cells).

My doctor and practitioners have reassured me that this sometimes just happens.

Somehow I’ve found the light.  Or perhaps it found me.

Either way, I am acutely aware that this may not last forever.

But for now, I am basking in the warmth.

And for that I am grateful.

Grateful for today.

“Mommy, how long ‘til my birfday again?”

She did not like my answer.

Actually, she had no real understanding of how long 364 days was.

But now that the days leading up to her 4th birthday has dwindled down to double digits she can recognize, she is getting really excited.

When asked what she wants for her birthday, her constant reply is- party with my friends, and cake!

Apparently, the cake is key.

I made this pretend strawberry cake out of felt a few months ago.

And in anticipation and preparation for the big day, she throws herself a pretend party daily.  With make believe strawberry candle-wishes and all.

“Only 18 more naps until my birfday party!”

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