Preschool?

Sometimes when I'm slowly jogging, gasping for air, forcing myself to keep going, I think: my sixteen year old self would be severely disappointed in the shape I'm in, and in my discipline concerning exercising....actually my thirty-one year old self is disappointed in the shape I'm in but that's besides the point. 

It dawned on me the other day that my sixteen year old self - very disciplined, driven, high strung (don't ask my sisters about this) - would be much more surprised to learn that I'm a mother. I often think that I was more disciplined and focused when I was a teenager than as an adult and I wonder about my maturity level over the years; but I forget that my adult life is so much more full of love and meaningful relationships than I ever imagined it would be. My years in the twenties and thirties so far have been more wonderful than I could have dreamed. And part of that wonderfulness just started preschool.

She's her own little person now. She didn't want to pose for photos. She wanted to catch and hold a lizard. She didn't want to wear the matching headband for her dress. She wanted to wait directly in front of the preschool doors, trying the handle until they were opened.

In case you were curious, she LOVES her time at preschool. 
And I love her teacher, and how Squirms runs happily squealing to greet me when I pick her up (in a car loop! I participate in a car loop!).