Yesterday, my number one little pumpkin went off to Kindergarten and it took me a full day to recover. We were the first ones there, lining up at the school. He looked like such a big boy in long pants and a collared shirt. I thought about the day that I first held him when he was one day old (right, I only briefly saw him when he was born and I was too sick to hold him until the next morning). I thought about when I changed his diaper, the first time I fed him, the first time he smiled at me. I remembered the day when he was only seven months old how I did peek a boo and he said, plain as day "BOO", which is how he got his nickname, "Boo". How he was only 8 months old and he waved and said "bye bye". How I used to count the words he said and how he was over 100 before he was one. I remembered the day I was folding laundry and had him sitting on the floor next to me and he pulled up to stand by holding the basket....and I missed it. How I took care of him when he was sick, how I rocked him to sleep every night because I couldn't put him down. Here he was, my big boy, all ready to leave me. He was so happy to go off to school, my little baby!
I was a basket case.
We waited outside for awhile and then we went into the building and I felt the tears well up. We walked into the classroom and the teacher said "Good Morning!" and I burst into tears. She got her tissues out. My neighbor, the mother of twin girls, one of which is in our class, was just as bad. The teacher smiled. My baby found his seat. He happened to be sitting right next to a little girl who also arrived early and I was talking to her mom on the line outside. Her name is also Joanne, her husband is also a teacher and we each have a 3 turning 4 year old as well as a first born starting Kindergarten. We also drive the same minivan. Ah, suburbia.