I am delighted to feature her mad writing and raising-of-little-people skills here at Life With Bellymonster. Annie is a gifted writer and an awesome mum. Best of all, she is also my friend.
The Day My Baby Became a Preschooler
The phrase “Monday my school?” has been my 3-year-old’s obsession this summer.
Taz can hardly wait for his first day of preschool and is convinced every tomorrow is a Monday.
Early one morning, before the sun peeked through the curtains, he came to my side of the bed and whispered, “Monday my school?”
I didn’t even try to explain how it’s not. He doesn’t understand what Monday is, or how long a summer lasts. Instead of arguing with him I simply agreed.
“Yes, sweetie. Monday is your school.”
“I need to color my paper,” he whispered and I saw a gleam in his eye. He padded backto bed. I think he must have been dreaming about it. All his anticipation and dreaming can finally end.
Preschool started this month. On a Tuesday.
I gave him the traditional back-to-school haircut. I watched the soft white fuzz fall on his shoulders and remembered how it stuck up all over on his head when he was born.
On Tuesday morning I cheered, “Finally! Monday My School is today!”
Taz grinned and quickly got to work preparing for his morning away from mommy.
He eagerly packed the mandatory change of clothes in his Lightening McQueen backpack. As I helped him, I wondered if I should feel a little heartbroken. This is the fourth time I have sent a child off to preschool and this will be my last.
I’m giddy. I’m ready. I’m dreaming of all the things I will accomplish in 3 hours of alone time. The deep cleaning and organizing that has taken a back seat to the baby and his three siblings can finally be tackled. The storage room might just get organized and I might make a dent in the scrapbooks I’m behind on. I’m hopeful, at least.
My baby is ready to spread his wings, too. He is happy and anxious, thrilled to become a Big Kid and have his own school just like his siblings. He knows his teacher and he loves her. She’s taught all of Taz’s older siblings. She’s practically part of the family, an extension of us.
As we drove into town I thought back to the baby Taz was, all chub and drool. His cowlicks created a spike of wild hair on his head. I blinked and he became a little boy,with bruises on his shins and a mouth full of tiny white teeth.
I’m happy in this moment. Every stage of life is full of blessings and challenges.
Embracing Taz’s enthusiasm, I joyfully walked him to the door and snapped a few pictures. We find his cubby and hang up his backpack. I turn, anticipating a final hug but he is gone. He is off to play and explore, secure in his role as preschooler.
I wave goodbye and slip out the door. The door shuts quietly but firmly. I feel one chapter ending and anticipate all the unexpected joys the next chapter will hold. A pool of happy tears well in my eyes and threaten to spill over.
I feel blessed.
* * *
And you? Which blessings have you counted, lately?