To Charlotte, on the Night Before You Start Kindergarten
It's here, baby girl! You have your cute little outfit ready for tomorrow (changed at the last minute, after being set aside for 6 weeks), and your pink Aurora backpack is loaded with school supplies.
I put you to bed tonight, hanging on a little too tightly, lingering a little too long. Now you're sleeping, mouth open with a tiny river of drool making a path to your pillowcase. But my big kindergarten girl? I see you as my chubby baby, sleeping soundly in a crib with the exact same expression.
I remember holding you for the first time, realizing, "Oh, crap. I have no freaking clue what I'm doing." Those first months were rough, weren't they? And as I struggled, you watched me with your enormous, sparkling brown eyes, trusting me to eventually get it right.
On my first day back to work, I cried in the daycare parking lot. That was the first time I let you go.
I remember you in the hospital at 8 months old and those 4 days of terror that taught Daddy and me that we only have so much power to protect you. An unpleasant lesson for your control-freak mother.
In some ways, it seems like we've just zipped by to this point. Weren't you just born? And in others . . . I feel practically TRIUMPHANT. Hey, hey! We made it!
How many ear infections and puke-fests to get to tomorrow? How many times have we read Hop on Pop and watched Frozen? How many nursing sessions, how many bottles, how many sippys? How many water day bags did I pack for you? How many lunches? How many diapers did we go through, and how many princess dolls have you collected? How many restaurant meltdowns, scraped knees, and spills? How many thousands of Cheerios have you dropped? How many times have you been clicked into your car seat? How many baths, how many wiped tushes, how many goodnight hugs and kisses?
How many times have I said good-bye, kissed your cheek, and seen you off?
And because I have seen you off so many times, and have seen you grow and thrive as you become ever less dependent on Daddy and me, I know that you'll do JUST FINE tomorrow. And the next day. And the day after that.
My bright morning star, you're gonna SHINE in kindergarten.
And
As your mommy, on the night before kindergarten, it is my right to indulge in a few tears.
I put you to bed tonight, hanging on a little too tightly, lingering a little too long. Now you're sleeping, mouth open with a tiny river of drool making a path to your pillowcase. But my big kindergarten girl? I see you as my chubby baby, sleeping soundly in a crib with the exact same expression.
I remember holding you for the first time, realizing, "Oh, crap. I have no freaking clue what I'm doing." Those first months were rough, weren't they? And as I struggled, you watched me with your enormous, sparkling brown eyes, trusting me to eventually get it right.
On my first day back to work, I cried in the daycare parking lot. That was the first time I let you go.
I remember you in the hospital at 8 months old and those 4 days of terror that taught Daddy and me that we only have so much power to protect you. An unpleasant lesson for your control-freak mother.
In some ways, it seems like we've just zipped by to this point. Weren't you just born? And in others . . . I feel practically TRIUMPHANT. Hey, hey! We made it!
How many ear infections and puke-fests to get to tomorrow? How many times have we read Hop on Pop and watched Frozen? How many nursing sessions, how many bottles, how many sippys? How many water day bags did I pack for you? How many lunches? How many diapers did we go through, and how many princess dolls have you collected? How many restaurant meltdowns, scraped knees, and spills? How many thousands of Cheerios have you dropped? How many times have you been clicked into your car seat? How many baths, how many wiped tushes, how many goodnight hugs and kisses?
How many times have I said good-bye, kissed your cheek, and seen you off?
And because I have seen you off so many times, and have seen you grow and thrive as you become ever less dependent on Daddy and me, I know that you'll do JUST FINE tomorrow. And the next day. And the day after that.
My bright morning star, you're gonna SHINE in kindergarten.
And
As your mommy, on the night before kindergarten, it is my right to indulge in a few tears.
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