Preschool

When you've got one of these in your hands...

...it's hard to imagine someday that you'll start using the word "school" when you talk about him. But time goes by at lightening speed, and suddenly that baby turns into this:

 

This is my baby at three years, and almost three months, heading out for parents day at preschool this August.


I wasn't sure how our little man was going to react—would he cry, would he run away without a second look, would he cling to us?

We've got a clinger. That day he didn't want to leave our side.

 

And later that week, when it was first day alone, he was THAT kid that Mrs. Brown, the kind-hearted and patient preschool teacher, had to peel from me. To my credit, I did everything by the book: smile big, say something encouraging, remind your child that you'll be back very soon, and have fun!

But Noah was a screaming. crying. mess.

When I shut my car door in the parking lot, my eyes welled with tears. I wanted to be excited for Noah to start this new chapter in his life, meet new friends and play his heart out, but I couldn't get past the crumpled expression on his face as he sobbed, "Mama!"

As I sat in my car, I wanted my little guy too. All those times I had dreamed about a two-hour stretch of time for just me—sadly, for just me and my work—while Noah got time to learn and grow just didn't matter anymore. I would have given anything to march back into that preschool and give him a big squeeze.

But I know that being a parent is about learning and growing too. This, I believe, was just the next step in preparing me to let go of him someday when he becomes a man. Surely, by then I'll be ready.

But for now, I'm just as excited as Noah is when I walk through the lobby doors of his preschool and feel the crush of him in my arms. It's a fitting reminder that though he's growing bigger and older every day, he's still my baby.