Day by day, it gets closer.
His first day of kindergarten.
I remember this.
I remember the weight of him in arms the first time. His smell. The softness of his skin. How tiny his little fingers and toes were.
And now, we’re down to the wire. The day he goes…free.
I don’t care if you’re rolling your eyes at me right now, or if you think that I’m being silly. This is hard. I have this thought that keeps whispering around in my rattly head: “This is it. This is the rest of his life. First, kindergarten. Then middle school, high school, college, and work. This day marks the rest of his life.”
The thought of it is so so so heavy. The first day of preschool wasn’t hard. But this is.
He’s so ready. And I know he’s ready. And believe it or not, I’m … ready. But the enormity of it… Oh man, my stomach just rolled over again.
As Hank and I talked about it last night, he so gently reminded me of all of this precious time that I’ve had with Holden the last three years of my intentional unemployment. How I’ll still have the summers and breaks and every day after 3:30. How I’ll be able to volunteer at his school, and go have lunch with him, and see him grow and shine and conquer and learn. But it marks the end of this chapter that we’ve been living for the past three years.
THIS IS SO WEIRD!
My Nick is out of the nest and about to launch his new career, has had a serious girlfriend for two plus years, and has already been through Army bootcamp and out again. I have done this before, hit all of these milestones already with my oldest. Why, then, is this so hard with Holden?
I’m not hovering, I swear. Well, physically, at least I’m not. My heart is in major helicopter mode, though.
But, my village is there. My momma friends and I will be meeting up for coffee and either a good laugh or cry or both around 9:30 a.m. on the first day of Kindergarten. I already have a box of tissue in my car at the ready, and my coffee money is tucked quietly away in the diaper bag.
And the other things have been methodically checked off the list: school supplies, new haircut, new backpack and lunchbox. He’s been practicing writing his name, which has successfully morphed from “Hole” to “Holden.” Yay for that. He’s counting and adding and subtracting. He’s asking questions about the Earth and outer space and mammals and the mechanics of things. He has a new bike helmet for the ride to and from school.
Yes. He’s ready.
And I will be.