It is just that time of the year. Lots of kids, all over the area, are going back to school. Leaves are changing, the days are getting shorter. It is just the normal cycle of things. Fall is upon us.
I have watched for many years now, children buy school supplies, pack their backpacks and lunch bags, and board a big yellow school bus. It has been quiet a while since I was the one jumping on board, so I truly have not concerned myself with the rituals of the season in a long time. All of that changed this week when my very own baby headed off for his very first day of school.
My son is only 3. It is only pre-school. It is only two days a week. In fact, it is two half days, for only five hours on Tuesdays and Thursdays, but to me, it might as well be an eternity. He has stepped into the next stage of his life, the school years, and for his mommy, yours truly, it was a bumpy road.
My son, as usual, adjusted gracefully. He was thrilled to go meet new friends. He would get to have "circle time" and "story time." He'd get to play outside with kids his own age. He could barely sleep the night before. He was just so ready to go.
On the flip side of that coin, I took weeks to prepare myself. I cried three nights before he even went. I made sure he had a nice outfit for his first day, two changes of clothes (as instructed by his teacher) and his little backpack all ready to go. It didn't matter. I cried my eyes out when he walked out the door, despite the huge grin on his own face and a spring in his little step.
He was so ready. And, I was so not.
I suppose that is the cycle of life. As our mommies watched us, so too must we watch our own tots grown up, cry our own tears and help our own kids form into functioning, educated adults. I knew it would come. He'd have to go to school some day. He couldn't always be taught by his dad, who stays at home with him, and has since birth. He couldn't learn all he needs to know from me, either. It is just a fact of life, kids go to school. They need to learn. They need to socialize. It is a fact of life.
Still, nothing prepared me for that first day, and I suppose nothing really would, for any parent. Though, I will say, his dad took it much better.
"Why are you so upset?" he asked me. "Aren't you excited to see him be a big boy, to grow up?"
"No. I want him to need his mommy. I don't want him to get older because that means he won't need us, he'll grow up, and then he'll move out," I cried.
"Yeah, in 15 years," my husband replied.
It is true. I have lots of time still with my baby boy. And, quite frankly, no matter his age and no matter what roof he lives under, he always will be my baby boy. I will accept with time the change, and adjust to our new life with a school boy in the house. He isn't a baby any more, and I know that... even if my heart won't admit it, and likely never will.
I have watched for many years now, children buy school supplies, pack their backpacks and lunch bags, and board a big yellow school bus. It has been quiet a while since I was the one jumping on board, so I truly have not concerned myself with the rituals of the season in a long time. All of that changed this week when my very own baby headed off for his very first day of school.
My son is only 3. It is only pre-school. It is only two days a week. In fact, it is two half days, for only five hours on Tuesdays and Thursdays, but to me, it might as well be an eternity. He has stepped into the next stage of his life, the school years, and for his mommy, yours truly, it was a bumpy road.
My son, as usual, adjusted gracefully. He was thrilled to go meet new friends. He would get to have "circle time" and "story time." He'd get to play outside with kids his own age. He could barely sleep the night before. He was just so ready to go.
On the flip side of that coin, I took weeks to prepare myself. I cried three nights before he even went. I made sure he had a nice outfit for his first day, two changes of clothes (as instructed by his teacher) and his little backpack all ready to go. It didn't matter. I cried my eyes out when he walked out the door, despite the huge grin on his own face and a spring in his little step.
He was so ready. And, I was so not.
I suppose that is the cycle of life. As our mommies watched us, so too must we watch our own tots grown up, cry our own tears and help our own kids form into functioning, educated adults. I knew it would come. He'd have to go to school some day. He couldn't always be taught by his dad, who stays at home with him, and has since birth. He couldn't learn all he needs to know from me, either. It is just a fact of life, kids go to school. They need to learn. They need to socialize. It is a fact of life.
Still, nothing prepared me for that first day, and I suppose nothing really would, for any parent. Though, I will say, his dad took it much better.
"Why are you so upset?" he asked me. "Aren't you excited to see him be a big boy, to grow up?"
"No. I want him to need his mommy. I don't want him to get older because that means he won't need us, he'll grow up, and then he'll move out," I cried.
"Yeah, in 15 years," my husband replied.
It is true. I have lots of time still with my baby boy. And, quite frankly, no matter his age and no matter what roof he lives under, he always will be my baby boy. I will accept with time the change, and adjust to our new life with a school boy in the house. He isn't a baby any more, and I know that... even if my heart won't admit it, and likely never will.
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