Suddenly, the calendar feels like a tiny ticking time bomb. I watch you laugh and run wild in the back yard. I notice your long, lean legs. How old you look in your new shoes. I nervously chew on my lower lip as I read the lengthy email from your new school principal.
How did we get here so fast? I look down at your baby brother in his bouncer seat, wearing an old onesie of yours. It’s like I’ve been thrown into a time machine. His perfect, gummy smile looks just like yours, and it’s both beautiful and heart-breaking. It couldn’t be a clearer message—time flies.
It’s time, I suppose.
Time for your mighty, inquisitive brain to explode with new knowledge. Time for you to meet friends that could last a lifetime. Time for you to proudly become independent, gaining a little space from your siblings and something special and just for you.
These past months have been an absolute blur. When I welcomed baby #3 into the world, I worried about how we would manage, how we would bridge the gap from January to August, with three in daycare. Boy, did life laugh at those plans. While it’s been utter chaos having everyone home 24/7, I’ve thanked my lucky stars for the extra time with you. Just to watch how you move, how you speak. To share a few extra special moments just for us before you take that giant leap into boyhood. While this time was such a gift, it makes for some super-sized kindergarten anxiety on mom’s end.
I didn’t picture it this way. Meeting your teacher via Zoom and wondering if she’ll understand the nooks and crannies of your busy, anxious mind. Worrying if we have enough masks for each day of the week and if your delicate little face will be able to tolerate them for any length of time. I scroll social media, seeing a wide spectrum of feelings from, “School can’t come fast enough” to, “We’ve decided to home school.” I knew I’d be emotional when your big moment came, but I didn’t see this coming.
From the very second I became your mama, I felt deep in my soul that I was put here on Earth to teach you. Put here to fill you with joy, to show you love and kindness, to bring you up understanding that you can do hard things.
I don’t know exactly what your days will be like. I don’t know what it’s like to ride the school bus with a mask on or be asked to stay a safe distance from my peers. But I can tell you this…
You will do great things.
You will meet so many friends. You will learn more than you ever imagined. You will laugh and share jokes with your peers. You’ll take pride in your new routine. And if I have it my way, you’ll run straight to Mommy’s arms after school, for a least a while longer. You’re not too cool just yet.