It would seem that Operation Going To School Isn’t This Awesome You’re Such A Big Girl YAY has hit a snag. It’s a doozy of a snag too, as far as three-year-old emotional butterflies are concerned.

“Hi Mommy. Good morn—” she says, and her voice cracks.The day is less than 30 seconds old and Natalie is already sobbing on the rug, a puddle of broken-hearted little girl. I suddenly feel unsteady inside my skin. “I—can’t—g-g-go—to—schooooool” she chokes, her eyes spilling over fresh. She has never cried this deeply before.

We tried good old-fashioned logic yesterday. “But think of all the fun you’ll have with your friends! Playing games! Reading books! Learning from your teachers! They’re so nice! And you always have such a good time singing and dancing!” Breathfuls of wasted exclamation points.

So this morning, we tried extra love. There was really nothing else to do with my sobbing girl except snuggle her close, smoothing damp curls away from her cheeks. But it didn’t seem to help, and I find myself completely disoriented in the new (to me) landscape of loving my girls intentionally.

I know Natalie has a glorious time once she’s at school and involved in the bright hum of activity. She comes home every afternoon glowing; I’m certain that this is a good thing for her. I just wish I knew how to soften her emotional heaviness in the mornings. It’s a thudding reminder of those newborn days when she was learning to put herself to sleep and I was crying on the other side of the door at how miserable she sounded. By now, I’m more accustomed to the way babies scream when they’re bored or tired or mildly annoyed, but a hormonal three-year-old is uncharted territory.

If there’s a positive side to these tearful mornings, it’s the opportunity for me to bond with my daughter in a special way. She’s been too busy carpeing the diem since she took her first steps to let me cuddle her like this, and I would never move again if pesky things like responsibility didn’t dictate otherwise. And perhaps Natalie’s pain is simply that of growing up. My girl is strong and spirited, and I look forward to seeing how she learns to lace up her frayed emotional ends and face her anxiety head-on. It just might be our most valuable lesson of the year.