Yesterday, I woke up earlier than I had in the past five years. It was so early for me that there were many days in those years that I was barely getting to sleep at that time. But that was not too hard.
Yesterday, in addition to getting myself ready for the day, I had to awaken, clean, dress and feed two other people and make sure they had everything they needed. I had to cook immediately upon waking up, springing into action, instead of taking a good hour to adjust to being awake as I had been able to before. That wasn't the hard part either.
Yesterday, I had to brave the early morning traffic, having not driven at that time of day in several years, forgetting what it had been like and knowing that there were more obstacles to contend with, making any recollection of traffic almost moot. I made great time, actually, and was able to beat the traffic, making my morning rather smooth despite being pretty tired. So that wasn't hard.
Yesterday, I walked through the gates of my old elementary school, my 5-year-old with his Iron Man bag strapped to his back walking next to me, my 3-year-old tagging along, holding my hand, my other hand holding a large plastic bag filled with the required extra supplies for the classroom, as we lugged ourselves and our baggage up the stairs to my son's kindergarten classroom for the first time. I brought him over to a bench where two of his classmates were already patiently waiting for their teacher. These two classmates were already somewhat acquainted with my son: one as a weekly playmate and the other as the son of a good friend of mine. My son spied another one of his classmates not adapting to this big change very well, crying profusely as their teacher tried to calm her down. I looked down at my boy who was, by then, rubbing his eyes, a sign that he was nervous. I knelt down in front of him and told him he was going to have a great day, that everything was okay, that he was a big boy and I was proud of him. I put on my happiest smile and encouraged him. As I looked closer, I saw his face start to break, a pout, a quivering lip and my extremely brave son trying very hard not to cry. When the teacher asked them to stand in line, my son would not move. I gently encouraged him to stand in line, grabbed his extra bag - and his classmate's extra bag - gestured to my 3-year-old who was busying himself with the jungle-gym outside the classroom and followed them in, despite a request made by the teacher the previous week that we let the teacher handle the nervous kids on their own while the parents left, trusting her to take care of all of our children who were complete strangers to both her and each other. By this time there was another child getting really upset. I sat my son down, gave him a few more words of encouragement. I didn't hug him or kiss him, feeling it would embarrass him even more. I whispered, "I love you." told him I had to leave and he nodded, understanding that despite his fear, this was something he had to do, that we had talked about for at least a year in preparation. I walked out with my youngest son who was, by now, crying because he wanted to stay. (And it was only then that I noticed my 3-year-old had been wearing two different shoes). We got in our car, drove the less than a minute drive home, walked into our house and started our day.
Well, we started our day after I closed the door and broke down, crying profusely, missing my first baby; wondering what I was supposed to do with one less child in the house; trying to get over the fact that this little boy had been by my side constantly for the past five years and now I had to let him go; remembering the fear in his eyes, the strength it took for him to hold it together as much as he could; the guilt of abandoning him when I was supposed to be the person who protected him, the person he trusted the most and feeling like a part of my heart was completely missing.
That was the hard part. That was, quite literally, the hardest thing I had ever had to do in my life.
Yesterday, in addition to getting myself ready for the day, I had to awaken, clean, dress and feed two other people and make sure they had everything they needed. I had to cook immediately upon waking up, springing into action, instead of taking a good hour to adjust to being awake as I had been able to before. That wasn't the hard part either.
Yesterday, I had to brave the early morning traffic, having not driven at that time of day in several years, forgetting what it had been like and knowing that there were more obstacles to contend with, making any recollection of traffic almost moot. I made great time, actually, and was able to beat the traffic, making my morning rather smooth despite being pretty tired. So that wasn't hard.
Yesterday, I walked through the gates of my old elementary school, my 5-year-old with his Iron Man bag strapped to his back walking next to me, my 3-year-old tagging along, holding my hand, my other hand holding a large plastic bag filled with the required extra supplies for the classroom, as we lugged ourselves and our baggage up the stairs to my son's kindergarten classroom for the first time. I brought him over to a bench where two of his classmates were already patiently waiting for their teacher. These two classmates were already somewhat acquainted with my son: one as a weekly playmate and the other as the son of a good friend of mine. My son spied another one of his classmates not adapting to this big change very well, crying profusely as their teacher tried to calm her down. I looked down at my boy who was, by then, rubbing his eyes, a sign that he was nervous. I knelt down in front of him and told him he was going to have a great day, that everything was okay, that he was a big boy and I was proud of him. I put on my happiest smile and encouraged him. As I looked closer, I saw his face start to break, a pout, a quivering lip and my extremely brave son trying very hard not to cry. When the teacher asked them to stand in line, my son would not move. I gently encouraged him to stand in line, grabbed his extra bag - and his classmate's extra bag - gestured to my 3-year-old who was busying himself with the jungle-gym outside the classroom and followed them in, despite a request made by the teacher the previous week that we let the teacher handle the nervous kids on their own while the parents left, trusting her to take care of all of our children who were complete strangers to both her and each other. By this time there was another child getting really upset. I sat my son down, gave him a few more words of encouragement. I didn't hug him or kiss him, feeling it would embarrass him even more. I whispered, "I love you." told him I had to leave and he nodded, understanding that despite his fear, this was something he had to do, that we had talked about for at least a year in preparation. I walked out with my youngest son who was, by now, crying because he wanted to stay. (And it was only then that I noticed my 3-year-old had been wearing two different shoes). We got in our car, drove the less than a minute drive home, walked into our house and started our day.
Well, we started our day after I closed the door and broke down, crying profusely, missing my first baby; wondering what I was supposed to do with one less child in the house; trying to get over the fact that this little boy had been by my side constantly for the past five years and now I had to let him go; remembering the fear in his eyes, the strength it took for him to hold it together as much as he could; the guilt of abandoning him when I was supposed to be the person who protected him, the person he trusted the most and feeling like a part of my heart was completely missing.
That was the hard part. That was, quite literally, the hardest thing I had ever had to do in my life.
While I can't say my life has been particularly difficult, I am still not above recognizing the slight humor in having such a hard time letting go for seven measly hours a day. I labored through sixteen hours of regular contractions for this child, even longer for my other one. I had managed to squeeze two human beings out of my body, sat through their shots and cried along with them, cried even more every time they were sick and endured countless sleepless nights worrying about them. Even though I had to let my son go in the morning, he'd be returning to me just a few hours later. We'd still have ample time to spend together, doing the things we used to have all day to do. No big deal. Millions of people do this every day, right?
None of that mattered. All I knew is that one day I was holding this helpless, newborn baby in my arms, his eyes wide and searching this bright, open space he'd just entered. Then I blinked and all of a sudden, my son was walking, talking, potty-trained, knew how to write his name, was a master at many video games and had an appetite for learning new things -- especially about dinosaurs and a bunch of other animals, each one more exotic than the one before it. And as he grew, he was growing right out of my arms.
The same fears that choke many parents in my position and the many more parents who've come before were clouding my mind with questions: Would he make friends? Would he be terrified and alone? Would the other kids be mean to him? Had I prepared him enough for school? Had I prepared him too much? What if they lost him? What if he got hurt?
More, though I had thought about it and tried to prepare myself for this big change, I realized I hadn't really anticipated how empty and quiet the house felt without him. My youngest son was still there and he's my little devil, the high-maintenance one, the one I always have to keep an eye on. I figured my days would still be busy chasing after him, stopping him from doing something he knows he's not supposed to do and having more time to be one step ahead of him. But he wasn't that difficult to deal with. The house did not get as dirty as it used to despite the fact that the child making most of the mess was the one who was still home. He was on his best behavior. It doesn't escape me that, perhaps, he was behaving so well because he was feeling lost and alone without his big brother, too.
That day was a busy one and I was distracted from feeling the anguish of being separated from my baby, even though I still thought about him every second that day. Before I knew it, it was time to pick him up from school. I walked through the gates again, this time with excitement, saw my little boy sitting among the other kids waiting to be let go for the day, smiled at the look on his face when he saw me there and knew he was just as happy to see me as I was to see him.
Much as I anticipated, Kane had mixed reactions to his first day of school. Because of his shyness, it was hard to get him to talk about what he did that day. But there were still little signs here and there that betrayed him and told me how much he enjoyed himself. When we went back into the classroom to look for the lunchbox he left behind, he ran around his classroom in excitement, retrieving playthings he'd been introduced to that day and I knew this was his quiet way of showing off. Later, I managed to squeeze more information out of him. He had fun, he learned new things and he figured, on his own, that school was not as scary as he initially thought it was.
That day I received more confirmation that he'd be okay when his teacher told me that she was surprised he wasn't in preschool before, as he knew a lot of stuff. She told me that he only needs to work on not talking out of turn and sitting still. Naturally, as an experienced teacher, she knows these are developed skills. And I understood these were low-grade critiques as he was "on green", the highest section of the class behavioral chart. But the only thing I could focus on when she told me how he did that day was the fact that my extremely shy little boy likes to talk out of turn. You mean, he talked?
So that was our first day at kindergarten. I saw "we" because I hope he carried me with him, not as a person to miss; not as the mommy who left him with strangers; not as the person responsible for this whole ordeal. I hope he carried me as the person who started him on a his educational path, years before he started school; as the person who loves him enough to let him go; as the person who he'd always come back to at the end of every day. I know I carried him with me. I missed him desperately at the small unveiling party Drew and I attended later that day, even though I knew he would not have wanted to go and would have been bored and too shy to interact the way his social butterfly of a little brother was. I stared at a TV that no one had to fight over, a video game console that had not been turned on at all that day. I fed one child, put one child down for a nap, took care of the needs of only one child after three years of caring for two.
Even while I hoped he wouldn't miss us too much and that he was having enough fun to not think about us too much after that difficult and scary first step, all I could think about was how much I missed him. I thought about how much I would miss him, almost every day for the next thirteen years and how much I hope it prepares me for missing him for the rest of my life when he becomes the man he was born to be.
In closing, I want to address my big boy:
Kane, you will never truly understand what you mean to me and who you are in this family. But I hope to show you every day how fortunate I feel to have been blessed with such a wonderful son. I searched for the right fit all my life and realized the day you were placed on my chest that you were the reason I existed. With you and your brother, my world was complete and no void could ever exist that you could not fill. I am so proud of you and cannot believe that I created you, molded you and taught you to be the wonderful child you have become, even as you learned and developed many things that had little to do with me and more to do with what an amazing person you are. Never forget that I am always here for you, that "mommy" is simply another word for "home" and no matter where you are, you will never truly be lost or alone.
I love you,
Mommy
More, though I had thought about it and tried to prepare myself for this big change, I realized I hadn't really anticipated how empty and quiet the house felt without him. My youngest son was still there and he's my little devil, the high-maintenance one, the one I always have to keep an eye on. I figured my days would still be busy chasing after him, stopping him from doing something he knows he's not supposed to do and having more time to be one step ahead of him. But he wasn't that difficult to deal with. The house did not get as dirty as it used to despite the fact that the child making most of the mess was the one who was still home. He was on his best behavior. It doesn't escape me that, perhaps, he was behaving so well because he was feeling lost and alone without his big brother, too.
That day was a busy one and I was distracted from feeling the anguish of being separated from my baby, even though I still thought about him every second that day. Before I knew it, it was time to pick him up from school. I walked through the gates again, this time with excitement, saw my little boy sitting among the other kids waiting to be let go for the day, smiled at the look on his face when he saw me there and knew he was just as happy to see me as I was to see him.
Much as I anticipated, Kane had mixed reactions to his first day of school. Because of his shyness, it was hard to get him to talk about what he did that day. But there were still little signs here and there that betrayed him and told me how much he enjoyed himself. When we went back into the classroom to look for the lunchbox he left behind, he ran around his classroom in excitement, retrieving playthings he'd been introduced to that day and I knew this was his quiet way of showing off. Later, I managed to squeeze more information out of him. He had fun, he learned new things and he figured, on his own, that school was not as scary as he initially thought it was.
That day I received more confirmation that he'd be okay when his teacher told me that she was surprised he wasn't in preschool before, as he knew a lot of stuff. She told me that he only needs to work on not talking out of turn and sitting still. Naturally, as an experienced teacher, she knows these are developed skills. And I understood these were low-grade critiques as he was "on green", the highest section of the class behavioral chart. But the only thing I could focus on when she told me how he did that day was the fact that my extremely shy little boy likes to talk out of turn. You mean, he talked?
So that was our first day at kindergarten. I saw "we" because I hope he carried me with him, not as a person to miss; not as the mommy who left him with strangers; not as the person responsible for this whole ordeal. I hope he carried me as the person who started him on a his educational path, years before he started school; as the person who loves him enough to let him go; as the person who he'd always come back to at the end of every day. I know I carried him with me. I missed him desperately at the small unveiling party Drew and I attended later that day, even though I knew he would not have wanted to go and would have been bored and too shy to interact the way his social butterfly of a little brother was. I stared at a TV that no one had to fight over, a video game console that had not been turned on at all that day. I fed one child, put one child down for a nap, took care of the needs of only one child after three years of caring for two.
Even while I hoped he wouldn't miss us too much and that he was having enough fun to not think about us too much after that difficult and scary first step, all I could think about was how much I missed him. I thought about how much I would miss him, almost every day for the next thirteen years and how much I hope it prepares me for missing him for the rest of my life when he becomes the man he was born to be.
In closing, I want to address my big boy:
Kane, you will never truly understand what you mean to me and who you are in this family. But I hope to show you every day how fortunate I feel to have been blessed with such a wonderful son. I searched for the right fit all my life and realized the day you were placed on my chest that you were the reason I existed. With you and your brother, my world was complete and no void could ever exist that you could not fill. I am so proud of you and cannot believe that I created you, molded you and taught you to be the wonderful child you have become, even as you learned and developed many things that had little to do with me and more to do with what an amazing person you are. Never forget that I am always here for you, that "mommy" is simply another word for "home" and no matter where you are, you will never truly be lost or alone.
I love you,
Mommy
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