First, let’s just say it.
It goes fast. No, wait. It doesn’t.
But it does.
I send my 3rd child off to pre-k tomorrow morning
and while there have been days that have lasted, I swear it, 50+ hours, the
past 5 years have just zipped on by.
I remember the hot summer of my pregnancy with him, my ever-swollen
ankles. I remember how we arrived at the
hospital a mere 11 minutes before he was born {let’s be honest…I’ll never ever
forget that}. I remember his first
smiles, in the baby swing that was set up in the kitchen in our first home that
was never meant for 5 humans to share. I
remember his first steps, and the hours we spent in speech therapy waiting on
the first words. I remember wiping tears
from my eyes when he looked up at the night sky and exclaimed “dark!”, one of
the first spontaneous words he spoke.
All of this talk about speech is funny, because now the same child never
stops talking. Ever.
Before I lose you, never fear…I remember the other things,
too. I remember cleaning out pair after
pair of underwear as we potty-trained {he wasn’t easy}. I remember throwing lots of them away,
too. I remember wondering why on earth I
ever thought having a third child was a good idea {that was just this
morning}. I remember the throw-down fit
we had in the middle of an elementary school assembly we were attending for the
older two kids. I remember the 30-minute
tantrum because the bag containing his cookie from Starbucks wasn’t folded
correctly.
Amidst all these tender and not-so-sweet moments catalogued
forever in my brain, it’s time to decorate the assigned tote bag, don the
laminated name tag, and send this boy off to pester another woman for 3 hours
per day.
And that, right there, is the paradox of it all. I have been earnestly waiting for this
spirited child to spend a few hours away, to have a break, to not answer 5,000
questions about dogs and microwaves and rocketships and q-tips. He has a little brother who will relish the
alone time with mom, and the 3 hours will be filled with errands and work and
glorious trips to Target with only one child.
But on this, the eve of the big send-off, I’m wondering if I
can’t just have another week. Just a
little more time enjoying the child who pushes the envelope and is a pioneer
into the realms of his mother’s sanity. I
want a break from him, and I simultaneously want more time with him. Now that it’s here, I’m wondering how it came
so quickly.
In the morning we’ll surely make more memories for me to
file away; his nervous smile as he walks in, his gleeful hug as I pick him
up. In a few weeks’ time we’ll have a
new routine, and I will wonder what I did before preschool {and then in June I’ll
swiftly remember}.
This is nowhere near the end, but it is something. And like many of the ‘somethings’, this one
pulls at the heartstrings a little.
