When you’re pregnant, whether it’s your first or not, you can expect those seemingly routine talks regarding multiple stages of your unborn baby’s life. And even more to follow once that squishy babe is here…
What kind of diapers? Breastmilk or formula? There are how many different types of bottles? Will you encourage the pacifier or not? Early morning feedings. Late nights. Sleepless nights.. followed by sleepless days. Middle of the night feedings. Trouble feeding. Nipple creams. Leaky nipples. Thrush… w h a t ? Teething remedies. Should my child be walking by now? First booboos. And second. Probably third. Can my child say enough words at this age? Potty training horror stories…
You get the idea. It’s a lot.
It wasn’t until our youngest was approaching school age that I realized there’s a conversation which rarely happens during those early years, if at all.
The last first day of school. Your baby’s first day of kindergarten.
Frankly, the entire year leading up to that first day is an experience in itself.
While it may not continuously be at the forefront of your mind, the thought is always there and will begin to creep in without warning.
Things like…
This is the last first day of school that will come and go before my “baby” joins them. The last Halloween, Thanksgiving, Christmas, Easter, birthday without more than a few days off for break.
And watch out momma, when those more specific thoughts set in.
I wonder how many trips to the park or store we’ll have before that first day. My little helper won’t be here everyday anymore. Who will make me smile when I’m feeling overwhelmed? Who will I talk to? Who will I stare at in amazement at the incredible human he’s becoming? Who will I stare at in horror as I witness my stubborn, whiny childhood self come back to life through this sweet (sweet?) child of mine? Will the daily cartoons I sometimes loathe become talk shows, news or maybe even just silence? The silence.. oh I’m sure I’ll enjoy it from time to time, but will it slowly eat at me and break down this metaphoric dam I’ve built to hold back a flood of tears?
There are plenty of household tasks to keep me busy but how will I keep my thoughts from drifting back to the days when my little one was no farther than a room away? When I could pray he was safe and simultaneously see he was safe with my own eyes? Will I miss the constant chant of “Mommy!” echoing throughout our home? Will I long for the days when I’d make it to dinner time before realizing I hadn’t eaten all day?
And most importantly, my child. My baby…
Will he adapt well? He worries about me when he’s not with me, as if his little heart thinks I’ll be safe so long as he’s there to protect me. Oh gosh, his heart.. he wears it on his sleeve. Will the other kids be kind to him? Will they like him? Will he be kind, like I’ve taught him? Will he feel alone? Will he muster up the courage to be brave when he’s feeling nervous? Will he find a friend he can relate to? Who will his teacher be? Will she see his tender heart buried underneath the “tough guy” exterior he instinctively portrays? Will he be her helper now? Will he call her name with that same confidence I heard each day, knowing his questions will be answered? Will the hours pass by quickly for him, like these years have for me?
I know how the saying goes – This is harder on you than it is on them. – And I’m sure I shouldn’t give much thought to these things, since most of what we worry about never comes to fruition. But all the logic in the world can’t console a mom’s heart when she’s concerned about her kids.
I dreaded that first day for my little man, and yes, for myself. I felt strong enough to handle it bravely but how could I know for sure what rush of feelings might greet me once we stepped into that classroom? Those little, round tables and tiny chairs. How can he already be tall enough to reach the backpack hook in his cubby? Does he need my help? No. Not this time. He can do it. Can I? Can I do this?
“Mommy, I don’t want to go to school.” Those words I dreaded hearing, now floating through the air between us.
“We’re already here, sweetie. You’ll be okay. You’ll have fun.” Did I really say that? I must have. His only response.. a palm slap to his forehead as if to say ‘what have I gotten myself into?’ And there he is again, my little smile maker peeking out from behind a curtain of nervousness I could see in front of him.
Today is day six of kindergarten for my baby. That last first day has come and gone. I was brave, excited even, for my last baby on his first day. I didn’t cry. Not that day, not the day after or the day after that…
But today has been met with tears.
Today I feel the loneliness. Today I feel the quiet, like that thick layer of fog draped over our early morning drive to school. Today I miss my smile maker and noise creator. I miss the messes, one after another. Today I miss hearing “Mommy, where are you?” if I leave the room for longer than 60 seconds. I miss my kitchen lunch date. I miss the all day PJs, just because we can. Today I miss the giggles over silly bologna faces. I miss our midday stories on the couch. My adventurous daredevil. My snuggle bug. Today I miss my baby.
The Log Farmhouse 