When Oliver came into the world, he had an ethereal quality about him, reminiscent of a mystical creature or a wise little sprite hiding beneath a toadstool. His eyes seemed to hold ancient knowledge, and there was an unusual tranquility about him—even for a baby. To be honest, it initially unnerved me, as though he were constantly observing and judging my every move. I still vividly remember my father’s words during Oliver’s first examination: before I knew it, I’d be buying him a school backpack. I truly believed I wouldn’t last long enough to see that day, convinced that mere days after his arrival, I would be a victim of sleep deprivation and worry.
Fast forward to a few days ago, when the orange camouflage backpack and matching lunchbox arrived in the mail. And guess what? I’m still here.
Since he was 12 weeks old, Oliver has been attending daycare. I didn’t shed a tear on his first day. I’ve left him with his grandparents, at camp, and playdates, sometimes for mere hours, other times for days. We’ve moved several times and traveled frequently, making us well-acquainted with the cycle of hellos and goodbyes. We’ve navigated separations, new teachers, and fresh routines without much fuss.
So why is this kindergarten transition weighing on me so heavily? The structure of our days won’t change much; we’ll still have breakfast together, pack his lunch, and say goodbye as he heads off to school while I work from home. It’s the same routine, right? Well, not quite. Just a few days away from that first morning at the bus stop, it feels anything but normal.
As I scroll through photos on social media from friends whose kids have started school, I engage in conversations with other moms, all of whom assure me that the first day of kindergarten is a milestone we all survive. I know this is what we ultimately want for our children: to grow, to learn, to embark on new adventures and forge friendships. The thought of Oliver being able to read fills me with joy—how incredible is that?
Yet, I can’t shake the feeling that something significant is slipping away. Time, for one. If the last five and a half years have flown by, how quickly will the next thirteen pass? Can I keep up? Will I remain engaged? Can I hold on to these fleeting moments?
Looking back, I have no regrets. We’ve shared remarkable experiences, even during the challenging times. We’ve cuddled during afternoon naps and basked in sunny days at the park. I don’t wish I had breastfed longer or taken him to more classes. We did what worked for us—imperfectly and chaotically, but ultimately filled with joy.
As we stand on the brink of kindergarten, I find myself wishing for a treasure trove of wisdom on parenting. It often feels like I’m always a step behind, breathless as I navigate from one hurdle to the next. Just when I think I’ve figured something out, a new challenge arises. In a single day, I’m explaining everything from the purpose of his anatomy to the mysteries of the universe, like why the sky is blue or how cars function. It’s mind-boggling and exhausting, and by day’s end, I know that at least one of my explanations was muddled and miscommunicated. How can I improve at this parenting thing when the landscape shifts daily, requiring me to be calm and consistent at every turn?
I’m uncertain if I have the answers—those reassuring responses—when it comes to school, bullies, teachers, homework, sports, and field trips. The questions feel more complex now, layered with the nuances of life that Oliver is beginning to grasp. I desperately want to get it right. School is a pivotal moment in his life, and its impact will resonate for years to come.
Perhaps this is why the transition to kindergarten feels so daunting; it feels like a test. Everything I’ve done up to this point will be scrutinized. Is he capable of sitting still? Can he write his name? Is he kind to his peers? Can he assert himself? Does he feel empowered to take risks, learn, and grow? Have I provided enough love, time, and attention to lay a solid foundation for his future? Will school shatter what I’ve built, or will it transform it into something magnificent?
I know that in a couple of weeks, we’ll have settled into a new routine, and it will feel familiar. Just as we forget the pain of childbirth and the moments of his first smiles or words, I’ll likely forget the cozy days of preschool. School will soon seem like the norm. I can’t quite explain how this amnesia occurs, how we acclimate to the new, but it always happens.
I also can’t fathom how the goo in that orange cup morphed into a boy who, just today, broke a wooden board in Taekwondo class and now has a strong opinion about the color of his backpack. I’m not sure if it’s due to my efforts, a natural progression, or something more magical, but I suspect it’s a blend of all those elements.
As we prepare for kindergarten, I’m reminded that embracing this journey is what truly matters. Every challenge, every question, and every change is part of the beautiful adventure of parenthood.
Summary
A mother reflects on her mixed feelings about her son Oliver starting kindergarten. She grapples with the swift passage of time, the challenges of parenting, and the uncertainty of this new stage in their lives. Despite her fears, she recognizes the joy in their shared experiences and the importance of nurturing his growth.
Keyphrase: Kindergarten transition
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