You won't stop talking about it. You want to go, you say, and you want to "play with kids" and "climb" and see your "teacher" and "learn all about animals." And guess what? I am not ready. Just like I am not ready to put you in a big boy bed, or give up our morning-bottle of milk-cuddle time (and afternoon, and evening). But guess what again? You know the entire alphabet. You've memorized half-a-dozen songs. You read books to me and you get most of the words right. You can count to 10 and you know your colors (sort of... working on pulling the "Brobee" off the front of "green") and you have fully communicated with us for months now. Maybe you are ready. Guess what a third time? You're not going to preschool until you're 3.5 years old. So there.
But... guess what? Today, we're starting a "play club" at THE preschool we want to send you to in a little over a year. Compromise. You think you're going to "school" and I think I'm going to throw up.
(Your older cousin starts kindergarten in August. I remember when she was younger than you. Slow. Down. Time.)