DEAR SUN I MISS YOU FROM MOON PLUS
I miss the you who spent nearly every day of the last five plus years with me.Īnd I’ll miss the pre-kindergarten you who is asleep just 20 feet away from me now, dreaming about the big kid playground and your new backpack. I miss the you who used to climb into bed beside me in the earliest hours of the morning. I miss the you who wore green dinosaur boots on the wrong feet every day until you outgrew them. I miss the you I brought home from the hospital, in the early days when I was terrified and unsure but so very in love. “I’ll miss you,” I’ll say, and you’ll assume I mean for the next eight hours.īut between you and me and these words you may or may not ever read, what I really mean is this: Tomorrow morning when I drop you off at school, I’ll put on a brave face and kiss you goodbye. Oh, Mom, stop being dramatic, you’ll probably say if you happen to read this 10 years from now. That’s the way it should be, but it hurts a little bit, too. And then you’ll be gone-a whole phone call away as you go live your life. As each one passes by, you’ll spend less time with me and more time becoming you. Kindergarten is the start of the long (but somehow not long enough) school years stretched out before us. Instead, I’ll sit at home wondering what you’re doing and looking forward to 4:00 when you can tell me everything about your day. Gone will be the slow days of no real schedule and no place to be. You won’t run to find me throughout the day to tell me a random fact or show me the creation you made. I won’t come downstairs in the mornings to find you curled up on the couch with cartoons and a cup of chocolate milk. But somehow, 32 feels like an eternity when I think about how many hours each week we’ll be apart. Not when we’re talking about 32 seconds in the microwave, or a 32-minute car ride, or even 32 birthdays on this earth. Starting tomorrow, the majority of our days will no longer be spent together. RELATED: Dear Anxious Kindergarten Parents, From a Teacher Waiting For Your Babies We’re crossing the threshold into Big Kid Land, and I’m not sure if I’m ready. Tomorrow you’ll start kindergarten, and I can’t help but feel like this beginning is the end of the chapter we’ve been writing for the past five years. Yes, even though we have 13 more years of this raising you journey ahead.Įven still, I miss you. Yes, even though I’ll see you tomorrow and the next day and the day after that. Yes, even though we share the same roof over our heads. What was a dull ache in my chest through dinner and teeth brushing and book reading now sits like an elephant on my heart, and I only just now realized what it is that I’m feeling: Now, you’re sleeping peacefully in your bed and I’m here tossing and turning in my own.
My heart needed to soak in the last bedtime before everything changes. You finally drifted off, but I stayed with you and held your hand a few extra minutes. RELATED: My Heart Isn’t Ready For You To Start Kindergarten, But Yours Is I told you it was really time to go to sleep then, and I rubbed your back while I sang your song-the same one I’ve been singing to you since we brought you home from the hospital almost six years ago. Somehow you always know the worries on my heart without me saying a word.
“I think I’ll be a little nervous, Mom, but I’ll be fine,” you assured me. Will they give me a snack, or should I bring my own just in case? Will I be brave enough to reach the top of the climbing wall at recess?
As you laid out your new outfit and triple-checked your backpack, you wondered aloud what tomorrow would bring. You were so excited tonight that I wondered if you would ever settle down enough to fall asleep.
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