My baby boy. So tiny and little and dependent on me when you were a baby. I was so excited with every milestone you reached. I was amazed at the things you could do and how fast you learned to do them. You made my heart melt with one little grin. I was enamored with you, adoring every little coo and sound you made. When you started saying "mama"? Oh, how my heart melted.
Over three and a half years later, I find myself just as amazed. And sad at the same time. You see, today, we took you to your first day of Preschool.
You have been talking about "going to school" for about a year and a half now. I was quite surprised last night at bedtime when you informed me, "Mommy, I go to school tomorrow -- but you don't leave me -- you stay there wiss me." Talk about breaking my heart! I told you not to worry about it right now and that we'd talk about it in the morning. I wasn't sure what I was going to do if you continued that philosophy, but I knew Daddy would be there with us to help out in case of any meltdowns or clinging to my leg.
Morning came and you were on the fence. You mentioned it again and I casually told you that I could not stay today because it's just for kids but that I would be back to pick you up when school was over...and then I held my breath for your reaction. Much to my surprise (and relief), you didn't bat an eye. You just went on as if I didn't even answer you -- and I wondered if you even heard me! We got dressed, shoes and all, and had some time before we had to leave. As you sat and watched TV, you were anxious to go. I mentioned it was almost time to get in the car and you were out the door, your tote bag in hand. I wanted to get a picture of you, but couldn't get you to stop long enough to smile. As we started to drive, you kept asking me for your bag. I didn't know what the big deal was, but assured you we'd get it when we got to school.
You carried it up the sidewalk and began digging through it as soon as we stopped. As we stood there waiting for them to open the doors, you found the envelope containing our family picture for the bulletin board in your classroom. I wondered why on earth you were so intent on finding it -- and you were so insistent that you needed to hold onto it! Last night, I mentioned it was in there and that we needed to remember to give it to your teacher, but that was it; no big deal. You held onto it the entire time we waited, walked straight into your classroom and gave it to your teacher. She asked who was in the picture and you answered her without hesitation or shyness. We found the hook with your name on it and hung up your bag. I turned around and saw you had gotten right down to business playing with some trucks. I gave you a kiss, reminded you that if you were still dry when you got home, you'd get "something special" (you picked a sucker) and told you we were going to leave. You said okay and kept playing, never looking up to say goodbye.
As Daddy, Avery and I walked down the hall, I teared up. A few escaped, but I held it together. As I got in the car and began to drive away, a few more fell. We were almost home and I noticed the song playing on the radio. It was Mark Schultz's "He's My Son". This song has always impacted me, as I try to put myself in Mary's shoes and think of how I feel about you, unable to fathom what she went through. This is obviously a drastic comparison to what I was facing, but it's true. You're not just ANY child; you're my SON. I lost it. Right there in the garage, I sobbed. It wasn't that I was afraid for you. I wasn't sad. I think I was just crying over the milestone. I know it's just two mornings a week. I know that you are going to love it. I know that this is what we decided is best for you. I've known this was coming for about 9 months now. But that doesn't help. I had to let you go today. I had to leave you in a place I'm unfamiliar with, full of people and kids I do not know and drive off. I'm not still in the building, should something go wrong. Someone else is responsible for you and you are going to have to ask them for help. I cried last night as I worried...what if you need help pulling up your pants after you go potty -- who's going to help you? What if you decide to strip down completely like you often do at home and are sitting on the bathroom floor as you try to get your pants back on? Do they know you can easily dress yourself when you are wearing shorts, but that you have some trouble getting your legs through your long jeans? I hope you feel comfortable enough to tell them when you have to go potty. I hope that you're not afraid when you realize you don't know anyone in that classroom. You don't know their names and you probably don't recognize their faces because you've only seen them one other time -- and you played by yourself the whole time, shyly refusing to talk to anyone. Are you going to share? Are you going to listen and obey your teachers? I hope you're not the kid who has to be told 42 times to do something like you often are at home. I hope that what people tell me is true; that you're very obedient and follow the rules when Daddy and I aren't around. I know you're only 3 years old, but I hope that they realize it too. I hope they know you've never been in a setting like this before and you don't know what to do.
I wish I could be a fly on the wall this morning to see how you react to things. Instead, I sit here at home in a quiet house. Your sister fell asleep on the way home and is napping in her bed. I am wondering what to do with this time. I'm sure I'll fall into a routine soon enough, but today I just want to reminisce. To think about you and us and the life we've had so far. This is just the beginning. This is just Preschool. But it's a start. It's your first introduction to school and you'll never have that again. Thankfully, Kindergarten is still a couple years away. Baby steps are good for me. You, on the other hand...I have a feeling you'll be upset when I come to pick you up this morning. That's just how you are. Fearful and cautious at first, but then you dive in and don't want to stop.
Sigh...I sure do love you, my big kid.
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