It’s nearly midnight on the eve of your last day of preschool, my sweet boy. You started your first year of school last September, and here we are nine months later, about to enter and exit classroom 4A for the last time.
I remember the night before your first day of school honestly as if it was just yesterday. I’d laid out your clothes (a gray jumper with your Met shirt underneath), two books your father and I picked out for you (The Wonderful Things You Will Be from me, and Pete the Cat’s Got Class from Daddy), your monkey backpack, some classroom supplies packed in your train tote, a little llama friend, and a first day sign I’d made.
Tonight, while you slept, I went through the ritual again, with tears in my eyes once more. Tears of disbelief over the much-too-swift passage of time, tears of pride that you have grown so much in these past months…
You started off in diapers and now you’re in undies. You know how to flip your jacket on, you can open and close the velcros on your shoes, and you can even take off your socks. You can nearly dress yourself (with just a little help from me), you can do a “bear walk” and a “frog jump” and you call all your classmates “my friends.” You can write your name and mine (MOM) beautifully. You’ve brought home dozens of drawings, paintings, and collages, and even a sculpture of a “honey castle.” Your teachers have only the best things to say about you, and they tell me how much they look forward to hearing all about your weekend on Monday. They tell us that you like to “share knowledge,” of which you have astoundingly much of for your age. One of your teachers said to us in our last parent conference, “Did you know how funny he is?” (Of course we do.)
I am overwhelmed by love and gratitude that I get to be your mom, and share in all your first, last, and days in between. Have a great day, my sweetest heart. “I’ll see you at 11:30!”