Our oldest starts kindergarten Monday and it’s hitting me harder than I expected. Anyone else?
I thought I’d be fine, because I know SHE will be fine. She’s been in daycare for years and did great in preschool. We’ve loved our chill summer days, but I know our girl thrives on structure and is ready to get more routine back in her life. I know that she takes a minute to warmup to new people, but I’ve also seen how easily she makes new friends. I am a big fan of the school district we’re joining, and the building she’ll be in is amazing. I believe deep down that she’s ready, and I know she will be in great hands. Because of all these things, I really haven’t been worried about her transition to kindergarten (knock on wood).
So why do I suddenly feel the breath sucked out of my lungs, that stinging burn in my eyes, and a frantic, urgent, desperate need to pause everything just as it is right now?
Because it’s the end of an era, changing of the seasons, switching chapters. Our firstborn, Covid baby, first rainbow baby, the one who made us parents, is about to start her school-age years, pivoting beyond the toddler and preschool days, and wowww does this feel like a huge milestone. An even bigger milestone than I anticipated.
Since becoming a parent almost 6 years ago, I’ve hear the “You just wait, it goes sooo fast” message countless times. And it’s so true. But it isn’t the expected things that have been hard. It’s the seemingly smaller things that feel like a gut punch, the ones nobody prepares you for. Like wandering back and forth between the toddler & kids clothing sections, not believing it’s time for the latter (and didn’t we juuuust move from the baby clothes to toddler sizes?). It’s the independence that grows gradually until you realize out of nowhere how much less they need you. It’s moving from bath time to showers, car seats to booster seats, “Mommy, help!” to “No, I got it myself.” While I know that this is all so great, a blessing, exciting, how it’s supposed to go – it still crushes my soul a little bit. Because it all points to the end of that little kid era for her. We know that it’s all about to go even faster, and I can’t fathom how it could feel even quicker than what we’ve already had. I’m desperate for it to slow down.
Yet I know that’s not the point, is it? She’s supposed to grow and evolve and take on what’s next. I’m not meant to keep her in this little bubble forever (although every day I wish so badly I could). So here I am again in a season that’s pushing me to accept that more than one thing can be true. Because if time really will keep flying faster and faster, I want to be present for every bit of it, not allowing the hard stuff to dampen the really amazing stuff right in front me.
Some of the ands I’m choosing to acknowledge & embrace this season:
I have moments of feeling sick to my stomach with pain from the days of baby & toddler life being behind us, and I am also in love with the blossoming personality and one-of-kind individual growing up in front of me.
It stings a little each time she can suddenly do something on her own, and it’s also truly a joy to get to hang out with this strong, self-sufficient, determined little girl.
I am beyond proud of how prepared she is – she is bright, kind, funny, empathetic, loves learning – and I’m also on the edge of my seat, praying everyone sees and accepts and welcomes her for the awesome kid she is.
I trust she has a teacher and school community that will take care of her and give her the most amazing school experience, and there’s still a feeling of unease that comes with the reality of leaving her somewhere new after years of a familiar daycare and preschool community.
I am
proud and nervous,
excited and sad,
thankful and bummed,
trusting and unsure.
Most of all I’m grateful for, while simultaneously grieving, the seasons we’ve moved past. Like the changing seasons, these eras of our lives are also temporary, each one building upon the one that came before it. So here’s to trusting that this next season is as magical as the ones we’re leaving behind, and that we’ve prepared her and built her up to take confident, strong, happy steps into this next chapter. I’m so very excited for all the good things she’s about to experience, and for all the good she is going to contribute, in this season and all the others to come.
So when we drop her off on her first day of school, I’ll smile as big as I possibly can – smiling with gratitude for the ability to be here cheering her on, while also smiling as an attempt to fight back a likely mess of tears that will be hidden behind my sunglasses. Tears filled with memories and hopes, happiness and grief, excitement and nerves, but mostly pride and love. 💗
Meanwhile 
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