Tomorrow is the big day. The day that just five and a half years ago I never dreamed would come so quickly. Tomorrow you will wake up, and we will begin a whole new chapter. A chapter I am so excited about, and yet so not ready for. I know from your jitters, excitement, and tears over the last couple of weeks that you feel the same way. You, in all of your five and half year old wisdom, told me that you have "mixed feelings" about this whole kindergarten thing. Me too, baby girl. Me too.
Tomorrow morning I will help you get ready, feed you breakfast, and put on that pretty new dress we picked out together. You will twirl and ask me if you look beautiful. And as you spin, I will see all of the beauty of the last 5 and a half years. Five years of stories, and cuddles, and firsts. First smile, first steps, first words. And then we'll walk to the bus stop together, and your little brother and I will watch as your tiny self takes a deep breath, drawing up all the braveness that slender little body can muster. You'll climb those tall steps until you are swallowed up in that big yellow bus. We'll wave goodbye, and watch you ride off into the big, wide world.
I know you're ready. You're ready to spread your wings and test them out. You're going to do amazing things. You're smart, and funny, and witty, and so, so kind. I'm excited for the friends you will meet, and the ways that your light is going to shine. I watched you closely just the other day at Kindergarten Orientation. I saw the apprehension on your face, wondering if you'd fit in, know what to say, know what to do. It was just for an hour, but you had to do it without me. And then I saw you after you went on your very first school bus ride, just for practice, and you were beaming with joy. "That was AWESOME mom!!!" you told me with a grin on your face.
And part of me was happy it went so well. And part of me was sad. Because with every new step, you become a little bit more of your own person, and a little bit less mine. And that's good, and how it should be, but it's hard too.
Now, it's true, you won't be gone very long. Just a few hours in the morning, and then back home in time for lunch. But it isn't so much the hours that you're spending away that are making me emotional; it's that you're starting a brand new chapter of life, and there is no going back. It's like we're jumping on a train and it just keeps going faster and faster, no matter how much I try to slow it down. It's that I remember my very first day of kindergarten, and now here you are getting ready for yours. It's that it feels like I'm sending you off into the real world for the very first time, and I'm nervous, really nervous.
Though I try to push it away, my own self-doubt creeps in, just like yours is tonight. Have I done enough for you, baby girl? Have I hugged you enough? Kissed you enough? Let you know just how very, very special you are? Have I helped you develop your sense of self so that you can be brave when hard things happen? Because I know that starting now, as wonderful as this new chapter will be, hard things are going to happen too. Kids will be mean sometimes. People will misunderstand you. Or use you. Or ignore you. And I won't be right there, ready to defend you, to shield you, and protect you. Have I done enough so that you will always know how wonderful you are? How your kindness, compassion, and sensitive spirit are exactly what this world needs? Have I fostered bravery in you? Have I made sure you know that I am always a safe place to land?
Because I am, my sweet girl. No matter how many eye rolls, and sassy words, and all the other ways in which you make your independence known to me, I am your safe landing place. No matter how hard it get sometimes, I hope you'll always feel that.
I'm praying you have the most wonderful day tomorrow. Praying you'll make some wonderful new friends, learn new things, and have more fun than you can imagine. I'm praying that as soon as you step off that big yellow bus, and back into my arms, that you'll be chattering away about your day because it went so well.
You're ready baby girl. So am I. Though tonight neither of us wanted to admit it. The great wide world awaits. And you're going to knock their socks off.
Love always,
Mommy
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