It was Carissa's first day of preschool. I wasn't sure what to expect, but all I knew was that I had to brace myself for tantrums and tears.

After 12 minutes or so on the road, we pulled up to the parking lot. The building was attached to a church that was hidden by a cluster of trees. As we passed the playground and entered through an olive-colored gate, I was preparing myself for resistance.

How loud will she scream? How much will she cry? The number of limbs she'll be clinging onto…over or under three? With every step, I was smarting over the fact that Mommy had somehow passed this burden onto me.

When we entered the classroom, it was bright and lively, full of faces and voices. One of the teachers walked right up and introduced herself, taking her by the hand. "Hi, I'm Ms. Liz. What's your name?"

She led her to a table and...Carissa sat down. She sat down?! She was talking, even animated with this new stranger over some sort of paper art.

"OK, uh, Daddy's leaving...?"

As I made my way out, I peeked through a little window carved into the class door. And to my surprise, she didn't shed a tear. Not a single one. Honestly, she wasn’t even looking for me.

As odd as it sounds, I think this is what hit me harder. I expected wails, fits of anger, something. Not this—being all grown up and un-needy.

And I suppose in my mind's eye, that's the memory I will have of her as she's growing up. The first time it dawned on me that she is no longer a baby. (First of many perhaps, but a marker nonetheless.)

That's the weird thing about parenting. Some days you can't wait for them to grow up fast enough. Then there are days in which the very thought that they’ll no longer depend on you is just...too much.

I suppose one can say it's the polarity that makes this whole parenthood thing so tough yet rewarding. I’m just glad I don’t have to do this alone.

Well, except for drop-offs. (I think the wifey knows—the tantrums and tears will be coming soon.)