Om Namah Shiva

           

Do you remember that scene from Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom where the Hindu priest is pulling a man’s heart straight from his chest while chanting, “Om namah shiva” - sounds like “Om nom shivai”, and later on he tries to do the same to Indi only to fall to his own death? That happened to me this week; minus the Hindu priest, or an incredibly built Harrison Ford nearly shirtless on a bridge, or the fall to a fiery or crocodiled pit of death. My heart was figuratively ripped out of my chest when I dropped off my son at daycare for the first time.

Granted, I tell my high school students on day one of my course that I’m a miracle of modern science because I have no heart; that if they come to me with their ‘tugging at my heartstring stories’ of how their homework is lost, they can just sell that batch of crazy somewhere else because I’m not buying. I figured this ability to become ‘heartless’ when needed would prove useful in this new endeavor with my child; this week, I was proven wrong.

My son has had the privilege of having my sister nanny him in his home the past two years. I’ve taken this for granted, and now realize after my sister’s decision to stop helping rear my child to find her own way in life, and my parents’ out and out refusal to take him until he’s 18 (selfish much?), that I had it pretty good. For the first time in his life, my son is out of the comfort of his home, and in a pre-school atmosphere. This is the most difficult thing I’ve done in my life.

Day one of this endeavor went well, a little too well. I dropped my son off expecting tears, pleas for me to stay, lingering goodbyes, and was met with my son practically throwing up a peace sign and telling me not to let the door hit me on the way out homeslice (do people say that anymore? Did they ever?); I was pissed. I became determined that my son would be more upset the next time I dropped him off (sick, I know). I had plans of spending the rest of the day with him only so that he would miss me more when I dropped him off day two. How could he nonchalantly say goodbye to me, not even noticing while I waited by the window (for 30 minutes) watching what he was doing, hoping he would look up, notice me gone, and cry out?  

Be careful what you wish for.

This morning my son held onto me with a vice grip akin to Lindsay Lohan holding a water bottle disguising her vodka at a party she hasn't been invited to. I contemplated not going to work. I started making empty promises which, at the time, I actually believed; I’ll quit my job, I’ll stay home with you, call in sick for the rest of the year, etc. etc. etc. While his sweet, grandmotherly teacher gently took my son from my arms assuring me this would all be okay, I wanted to grab him and run.

Does this get easier?