First, let me say that I know you know I know, or rather I HOPE you know I know you know I know that it will be okay. Meaning, I know my child will be okay, particularly since despite my vigilant attentiveness to any signs of back-to-school-itis, he seems to have none. Like, none.
I, on the other hand, woke up yesterday with major upset stomach as well as piercing back pain that I immediately attributed to several reasonable external sources — leftover chinese food, carrying heavy furniture, a bug, tennis, full moon, feminine issues, and more — before conclusively diagnosing, today, as ... duh, physical manifestations of my own intense anxiety that can be traced to going back to school.
And I know, I know, it’s my son not me who’s going back to school but it’s a change from long lazy summer days. And I will miss him, miss Summer Break, even though I’ve been saying I miss school since we finished school three months ago. And I will be nervous about meeting new parents and new teachers with new rules and new expectations. Even as I know that we will get through second grade, it will be doable, I will get that pencil sharpener with built-in shavings catcher in time.
And yes, again this year, my child does not want to get new clothes to help me deal with my anxiety that he make a good first impression, or that he be prepared. He says he likes his array of ripped and/or stained and/or too small and/or un-chic t’s and shorts. He says he is looking forward to seeing his friends. He says he is ready. I’m ready too. I’m gonna keep going.