Thoughts, err-- My Feelings on Kindergarten

For lack of better words in order to avoid sounding like a drama queen, I can fully admit that I'm in mourning. Of course, nothing terribly sad is happening. Nobody is ill. I still have my house, my family, and most of my sanity. But I feel as if I'm losing part of the life I've lived the past six years--and it's for the closing of this life chapter that I mourn.

 Yes, I'm mourning, but I'm also experiencing feelings that I haven't felt since I was about to deliver my first baby. Back when the unknown was truly scary, and I couldn't create a balance between the complete joy and extreme fright I felt as I was about to hold my first child. Back when I struggled with letting go of who I was while trying to stand tall and noble on the threshold of motherhood.

Not many people know this, and my 6-year-ago-self would be completely embarrassed to admit this now (because it was a secret I was taking to the grave), but I refused to go into the hospital when my first daughter was due to arrive. When we pulled into the hospital parking lot, I remained in my my seat as Matt got out of the car. My husband could not persuade me to go inside.  I was being a hot, stubborn mess. All of a sudden, I felt I was not ready to do this whole birthing thing. I wasn't ready to change.

I sat in the passenger seat of my good ol' college car (a nice, silver Grand am) with tears in my eyes and dread in my heart. Dread may be a strong word, but it only matches the raw emotion I was feeling as I was facing the biggest life-change I'd ever experienced.  Going through my parents' divorce, going to college, graduating college--none of these changes were as intimidating as the one I was preparing to undertake. What can compare to entering motherhood for the first time?

But the feeling of dread was only part of the picture. It failed to encompass the exhilarated, joyous, thrilled side of my emotions. Of course, I was ecstatic that I was about to become something so powerful, so incredible, and so overwhelmingly beautiful. I couldn't wait to hold that tiny, pink-fleshed, wriggly, screaming gooey mess of a newborn. I pictured lazy days spent cuddling in the hospital bed, where we'd sleep together, eat together, and strengthen our bond as mother and child. But as I sat in the car with my husband standing by my side, waiting for me to make a move toward getting out and heading into the hospital, all I could concentrate on was the dreadful feeling of accepting change.

I spent 9 months with the knowledge that someday this little thing inside me would actually have to make her way out into the real world. She would have to live and breathe like the rest of humanity. But I must have lived those months in a continual state of denial about the reality of birthing a real human that I'd be responsible for--forever.  In my defense, we didn't exactly plan our pregnancy, so I didn't enter into it fully ready and anticipating the pitter patter of little feet. It was almost as if I'd been living my life not pregnant, and then all of a sudden while sitting in the hospital parking lot, I realized that not only was I pregnant-- but I was about to give birth.

Convinced I was staying put in the car, my husband called my mom to come "talk me into" going in to the hospital. But while I was sitting there, I knew I was just borrowing time. I knew I'd end up going into the hospital and having a baby within several hours. But I was trying to hold onto my life as I knew it--even as excited as I was to welcome my child. I just needed a few minutes to let it hit me. As I sat there in the late summer heat, I was letting the reality of this change set it (since I failed so miserably to take care of that the previous 9 months).

After several minutes, maybe an hour, I finally got out of the car and waddled into the birthing room with teary eyes. Like a bear settling into his den for a winter nap, the idea of becoming a mother was settling in my mind. It became comfortable. I realized I was about to change everything I had ever known about life. I was no longer just me; I was somebody's mom. And while logically, a part of me knew this all along, I never fully let my heart accept it. But as you an imagine, as soon as that perfect little being was placed on my chest, I knew no other calling in life could ask so much, hurt so much, or love so much. I was ready to take on the incredibly rewarding challenge of motherhood.

Fast-forward six years and I'm counting down the weeks and days until kindergarten--it's bittersweet. I keep (selfishly) thanking my lucky stars that she was born 2 days after the cut-off date so that I could keep her at home one more year. And while I've known for quite some time that my baby would some day leave my nest and attend school all day long, I tried to not ever think about it--that is until this past year where some moments have been filled with the same angst and excitement as they were in that hot car six years ago.

Slowly, I have let the new reality, this change, settle in my mind. I've pictured her not being at our table for lunch during the week. In my mind I've played the movie reel of what will be her kindergarten life--getting on the bus, making new friends, eating lunch with other people, singing at a school program...

But ask me if I'm ready to let her go (just this little bit) and I bet you can guess my answer. No!

No, I'm not ready to turn her over 8 hours a day, 5 days a week. I'm not ready to forgive time for passing without me taking a breath. I'm not ready to let the world have my precious gift. I'm not ready for this change.

But unlike the hours preceding her birth, I can't just sit in a car and wait until I'm ready. Because really, she is ready. She's more than ready to be the big girl Matt and I have raised her to be. She's fully capable of handling herself in school, writing her name, obeying the teacher's rules, and letting her father and I watch her succeed. She is ready to grow, as I do too. And while I'm happy that she's well-prepared, healthy and excited for school, there's that part of me in my heart that never wants to let her go. That part that would be more than happy to keep her little, unscathed by anybody's anger or bitterness, and as pure as the afternoon sunlight that fills a room.

I find myself, daily, playing the movie of her life thus far. I see her first holidays, foods, and steps. I remember her meeting each of her sisters for the first time. There are memories of us playing at the park where she wanted me to keep pushing her higher and higher. I see us in our kitchen where I'm letting her help me cook.  In her sweet 2 year old baby voice, I hear her ask me if she can help me dust, or feed the baby. I  see the disappointment in her toddler eyes when I tell her it's time for nap. I see her big cheeks turn up into a grin as I blow raspberries on her baby belly. I smell her hair after she got out of the bath in our old house. I hear the excitement in her voice as she built an amazing tower with her blocks. I can see, hear, and smell everything--even the things I once thought I'd never remember, or want to remember.  And then suddenly I'm thrown back into present time--where I sit with just a few more days to make these memories that I'll file in the "while she was still at home" category.

No one ever said life was easy, and I know nobody every once mentioned in any moment of clarity that motherhood was easy. But it is easy to love your babies. It is easy to desire the best of the best for them. It is easy to tuck them in with a goodnight kiss and a story. But my friends, it is not easy to let them go. Even if they're only going to kindergarten.

In a few days, I'll walk her out our front door, her hand tucked safely in mine, and wave goodbye as she boards the school bus. And while I'll be fighting the urge to cry and scoop her up in my arms running back into our house as if I were running back in time, I'll also begin to understand another side of being her momma. I'll have to accept this change as I have and will all others, but that doesn't mean I have to like every part of it. It just means that I'm human and I have deep, instinctual love that overpowers most logic I have. But thankfully I also have a little sense left to realize this day is about her and not about me and my feelings. So I'll be there, smiling and supporting her through every step of the way--as I always have and always will. That, my friends, will never change!