I am literally a nervous ball of mom sitting here, chomping on my nails, hoping I don’t throw up in the principal’s office. Today is the day we choose a school for my kindergartner. The kids start school Friday.
One would think, as a writer, I’d be able to articulate how I’m feeling right now. But I can honestly tell you, I’ve backspaced quite a bit. I can’t quantify the feeling coursing through my veins. I just feel it, and it stings. It burns and pains me to see the days and years ticking away and I can’t control how fast it leaves, only what fills each fast-paced day.
My curly-headed five-year-old won’t be with me during the day anymore? Isn’t he the small baby I’m carting around in the stroller, or playing with my hair on my hip, cooing at the teacher or throwing books on the floor when I volunteer in the library? Isn’t he the small child trying to sit up like a big boy at the table, like his brother and sister, when we visit school to eat lunch? Isn’t he the one that they allowed to get his “yearbook” photo taken one year, just after his brother and sister, who looked so teeny, so small sitting on that stool they had to spin forever and ever just to get to the right height to take the picture?
How is it this time already?
Parenting is a lot of teaching, of learning yourself, with caring and boo-boo kissing and lots of dishes, diapers and laundry. But it’s also a lot of letting go – letting go when they take their first step, letting go when they pedal for the first time, letting go on the swings, on roller skates, on brushing their own teeth and wiping themselves. And now, going off to school for the first time.
How can parenting fill you with so much love and yet, break your heart into a million, tiny little pieces all at once?
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