Tomorrow is E's first day of preschool. And I, well, I'm mostly okay.
And so it begins, right? I mean, I used to be on the other side of the equation-in my former life as a Kindergarten teacher, I was the one patting the sobbing parents on the hand, shooing the kids into the classroom, telling the teary-eyed moms and dads to JUST LEAVE, and the kids would be just fine and don't worry.
And they all were fine, eventually. But now it's me. I'm sending my big little boy out into the world--albeit twice a week for a few hours to a place filled with other children and adults who care about said little children. He knows our address and my cell phone number and the ABCs and how to count and colors . . .
But it's still the big world, right? School changes kids. We've had a good run, these past three years. Staying home with E, and then grieving at home after Calla, then being home with baby O and big boy E--it's been fun. (OK, the grieving part's not fun. And the immediate aftermath was horrible. But you know what I mean.) September, for a long while, was adios summer and back to routine. Then for three years it was September who? Whatever! And now it's back to business as usual.
And then in a few weeks he's starting dancing school. My mother-in-law has a studio and my sister-in-law will be teaching his class. But STILL. It's something else.
Like I said, I'm mostly okay with all of this. It's time and he's ready and he'll love it. But it's still a little sad to say goodnight to my little boy, only to take my big boy out into the world, his new world, tomorrow.