At work the other day, my manager was talking with another parent about how hard it was to say goodbye to their kids on the first day of school. “I’ll be fine,” I said flippantly. “Get out of my house already, I need the quiet.” And while it’s true that I crave quiet and aloneness, which mothers don’t get enough of, I am not as hard as I thought I was.
This morning, I was a softie. Last night, too. I tried to go to bed early, knowing we would all be waking up to an alarm. But I tossed and turned, thinking of my baby out there in a cafeteria line, finding his desk, hanging up his backpack, all without me protecting him.
We walked to school, all of us together, and at the door, Brandon lined up with the rest of his class. First, he kissed us each on the cheek, gave us hugs and high fives. “I’ll miss you, Holds,” he said and a tear slipped down my cheek.
A girl in his line was crying and screaming, lying on the beauty bark, kicking her feet. “I don’t wanna go!” she cried, tears everywhere. Brandon just watched her, no tears or hysterics of his own. I remember last year at preschool, he clung to my leg and begged for me to stay. But this year, he stood on his own, fearless.
I will have to learn to let Brandon experience this big world I’ve sheltered him from. I will need to learn to back off. There will be pain, but also joy. There will be lessons, both good and bad, that he will learn. He is not a baby anymore. He will grow into that giant backpack.
I have cried every year. I assume I will cry every year until they graduate.
When my eldest started she was ok only a tad upset, when number two started the following year she was also ok and when number three started she didn't even want me to walk in with her.