Kindergarten. Is. Coming.
A few days ago, I got an invite to join a Facebook group (yes, I'm one of the few still on Facebook). It's for parents of kids entering the local elementary school's kindergarten for the 2024-25 academic year. Surprisingly, I cried.
Surprising not because I cried, but when I cried.
So far, my son's milestones have passed so quickly that there's been little time to process my emotions in the moment. The impact usually hits a few weeks later. (I wrote about this strange delayed-onset grief I was having when he was an infant for Motherly.) Staying present for his developmental phases got harder when his sister was born, doubling the amount of things my brain had to hold every day.
Kindergarten, though, is a milestone that I'm processing in real time. And I don't know why.
He's ready for kindergarten. 100% ready. I, on the other hand, am not.
Maybe because it's in my face almost every day. The elementary school is in our neighborhood, and we pass it on the way to and from his preschool. He shouts "That's my school!" as I wait for the crossing guard to give me the OK to proceed past the throngs of children entering the buildings doors.
Maybe it's because he's transformed in the past nine months. In September, he preferred to play by himself, stubbornly resisted practicing a pencil grip, quietly leafed through his books, and threw temper tantrums anytime he had to stop doing something he liked. By March, he was jumping into the fray with friends right away, spending a half-hour writing out the full names (and numbers!) of NASCAR drivers on construction paper, reading entire stories out loud to us, and ... ... ok, he still throws temper tantrums when he has to stop doing things he likes. At least I have that.
He's ready for kindergarten. 100% ready. I, on the other hand, am not.
I don't think it's sadness over the fact that he's growing up. I've kept in mind my friend's advice, with which I closed the above-cited Motherly article: "For every stage of motherhood that ends, a new one begins, bringing different but no less abundant joys." That's proven true, again and again. But I just can't believe it's time for all of this (*gestures wildly*) already.
"Where did the time go?" the little voice in my head asked. "Where did my baby boy go?"
As we sat on his bed reading a book last night, I looked up at the decal on his wall. I spent two hours painstakingly applying it over Memorial Day weekend 2019. He kicked around my belly non-stop as I smoothed each letter onto the wall, then again when I aligned the head of the teddy bear with the top of the "T" in the word "Thomas." I remember feeling so at peace, so excited to bring his little life into the world. Looking at that decal now, it felt like I had put it up a few months ago, not almost five years ago.
Then my gaze slid down the wall onto his thick dirty-blonde hair air-drying after a bath, his blue-tan-brown flecked eyes focused on the words on the page, his lips — perfectly cupid's bow-shaped since birth — moving as he read the story aloud, his nearly four-foot frame folded over the book on his lap. "Where did the time go?" the little voice in my head asked. "Where did my baby boy go?"
I marshaled every bit of brainpower I could to keep from crying in front of him. My heart felt pulled taut: On one side, longing to revisit the days I spent marveling at baby TJ's tiny fingers and toes. On the other side, dying to know what personality quirk big-kid TJ will reveal tomorrow. One side, incredulity; the other, excitement. Something lost versus something to gain.
One member wrote, "'I feel like I just found out I was pregnant with him, and I can't believe we're here!"
"Same, sister. Same," I thought to myself.
Is it easier to grieve these milestones after the fact, like I used to — or in the middle of things, like the emotional slow-motion car-wreck I'm living through now? Will the grieving process get easier the more life milestones he passes — or does the pain of each one grow exponentially, like compound interest?
When people talk about parenting being the hardest job you'll ever love, they're usually referring to the mental (and sometimes physical) load of keeping your kids fed, healthy, safe, happy, and running to and from the dozen activities you've signed them up for. They're not referring to the emotional load of recognizing and processing these feelings and the energy it takes to keep them in check, especially in front of your kids.
It's a phase of life that's by turns thrilling and anxiety-inducing — and I've still got 4+ months to go before kindergarten actually starts. But thanks to the Facebook group (SEE, it has some redeeming value!), I know I'm not alone. As each member joined, they introduced themself and their child. One member wrote, "'I feel like I just found out I was pregnant with him, and I can't believe we're here!"
"Same, sister. Same," I thought to myself. At least I'll be weathering this storm of parenthood in good company.