How did we get here? It seems like yesterday my son was walking into the school building unsure of what awaited him through the big maroon doors. I can remember so vividly a few tears in his eyes as he lined up outside with the rest of his class. I can remember his red polo shirt and his khaki shorts. I can remember his Disney Cars backpack and the white plastic bag full of school supplies in his hand. My goodness he was so little. He seemed to get lost among all the teachers, students, and parents waiting outside. Looking back that red polo was so appropriate. He was my heart, and it was like my little, red heart was walking around outside of my body that day. I remember saying, "I love you, bud," as he walked into the building, but barely getting out those words because a giant lump entered my throat as I opened my mouth.
I remember missing him so much the first few weeks. I nurtured this sweet boy 24/7 for the first five and a half years of his life and this was the first time we were ever apart for an extended period of time. This was all so new and it took some adjusting. I needed more time to adjust then he did. By the third day he couldn't wait to get to school. It took me a month to get used to him not being home. Well, maybe not 'used to,' just distracted enough by my three year old and 6 month old. By November, I was figuring out a routine and more comfortable with my boy being gone most of the day. I got used to him being in school, but I can't say I ever stopped missing him. If he told me he didn't like school, I'd pull him out in an instant and home school, probably out of my own selfish desire more then anything.
I didn't mind when he was sick this past winter because that meant I got to spend extra time with him. He didn't like missing school and I didn't like seeing him upset about missing out, but I loved those few extra days with him. It was like the good 'ol days, when my sweet boy was with me all the time.
Once we got through flu/cold season, my sweet boy didn't miss any school. In the middle of May I noticed it had been several months since he had missed a day of school and I contemplated keeping him home simply because I missed him and I was ready to have him home for the summer break. There were several nights where I'd grab him out of bed and go get ice cream or go for a walk with him, hand in hand of course. I was just really missing him, just like I did in the beginning. I wanted my boy back. Every day I asked him if he wanted to take a day off, but he said no and I didn't want to make him do something he didn't want to do.
Toward the end of May, I started getting super emotional when I thought about my son. How is he six now? How is this school year almost over? Where has the time gone? I didn't like having an almost first grader. It made me feel old and it made me realize my baby wasn't a baby anymore. Kindergarten sounded so 'babyish' but first grade sounded so much more mature.
I used to laugh at those moms who would talk about tearing up over their kid's preschool/kindergarten graduation or whatever. Now, I get it. Your baby isn't a baby anymore when they end a school year, at least it seems that way. In a way, they are a whole year older, and it goes way too fast. You realize how much time you didn't get with them, how quickly the coming years are going to go, and how you're almost afraid to blink because if you do you'll be sitting at a high school graduation wondering how in the world you got there.
This is how I feel on the eve of my oldest son's last day of kindergarten, like time has flown by, like he's officially not a baby anymore, like this year was the fastest yet, but they're only going to get faster and that's scary. There's a fear he won't need me soon, he won't let me snuggle him or kiss him, that he'll be too concerned about his friends and not spending time with his mom. It's emotional.
On the eve of his last day, I am so beyond grateful I got five and a half years at home with my sweet son. Despite all the endless days, nights, frustration, exhaustion, fights over his picky eating, the drudgery some days of even waking up to a fussy toddler, the boogie noses, the poopie diapers, and spit up, despite all the fear, worry, and anxiety of raising a decent kid, I'm so thankful my husband suggested I stay home with our baby boy that night standing in the kitchen of our little condo when I was five months pregnant with him. It was a LONG five and a half years, but it really wasn't. It was a mere blip on the radar.
Looking back, this year has made me realize how important time is with my son. I've realized how time gets faster once your kids are in school. I realize how much more time is spent in school then at home. I value every minute I get with him because it won't be long before I'll be sitting her on the eve of his last day of first grade and I can only imagine I'll be just as emotional because I'll not only have a second grader, but I'll be losing my second son to kindergarten. And we'll do this all over again.
So forgive my rambling. I'm just a mama who's little boy is growing up too fast for her heart to handle.
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