Alllllll summer long, Joshua said “nac nac” when he wanted something to eat. All. Summer. Long.
And then he went back to daycare and started coming home saying “ninnee,” which I took to mean “hungry.”
He will sign “eat” so it makes sense that he’d say “hungry,” right?
Right.
He is not saying “hungry.” He is saying “Cindy.” As in “Miss Cindy.” As in his teacher at daycare.
HE DOES NOT EVEN CALL ME “MAMA” BUT HE SAYS HIS TEACHER’S NAME.
I want to laugh AND cry.
I mean, it’s funny, right?
He calls her by name when he wants her or wants something from her. When they are outside, he calls out “Ninneee” and she says “Whatcha want, buddy?” and he’s all “Excuse me. Could I please have a grilled cheese sandwich for lunch with a side of peas? Thank you.” Or something.
No. It’s not funny at all. It’s freaking HEARTBREAKING is what it is.
He KNOWS I’m his mama. He will sign “mama” sometimes when we say it to him. But he does not call me mama. He doesn’t call me anything, actually. He just yells in my face and throws tantrums and screams at me and wakes me up in the middle of the night.
I just feel like crying about it right now. I’ve felt like crying for most of the evening, honestly, but this? This makes the “I want to cry” worse. So. Much. Worse.
When we were leaving today, he saw Ms. Emily and he said “mama” and went to her.
WHAT IS THIS, CHILD? DO YOU NOT KNOW THAT I ENDURED FEET SO SWOLLEN THEY WERE ALMOST UNRECOGNIZABLE FOR YOU!?!?! NOT TO MENTION THE STRETCHMARKS!?!?!?!
I mean, I can’t get mad at him. I can’t get mad at them either. Hell, I can’t even get mad at myself. There’s no one to “blame” here.
He’s with them more than he’s with me now. It only makes sense that he’d know what to call them before he’d know what to call me. I see him for two and a half (maybe) hours a day and I’m usually chasing him around a practice field while also instructing my girls in how they SHOULD be doing things. To say my attention is divided is an understatement.
His teachers are, well, teaching him.
His entire language explosion is happening with them instead of with me.
And words are kind of my life.
See why I’m upset about this?
I feel like I’m not parenting him. I feel like I’m belonging to the school of thought that says it’s “not my job” to worry about teaching him. That THAT is the job of his teachers.
But you know what this teacher-mama KNOWS??
That a good education starts at home. Only Joshua’s good education is starting at a daycare while his MAMA is off teaching other kids.
Is this the definition of a paradox?
The thing is that I love my job. I love teaching my students. I’ve had a great week and two days in the classroom so far. My students are listening and responsive and communicative and I enjoy teaching them. As far as my professional life is concerned (until or unless someone ever wants to pay me to write from home in the comfort of my yoga pants) I’m doing what I KNOW I’m supposed to do with that aspect of my life.
But I’m missing so much with Joshua. So, so much. And that is really freaking hard.