In just a month, my little girl will celebrate her fifth birthday, and I’m already feeling a sense of loss. I’ve experienced this milestone with my three boys, but the ache feels just as intense now. Five is my least favorite age. It marks the beginning of their independence as they take flight to kindergarten, and this time, it’s particularly tough because she is my youngest. I know I’ll never have a baby in the house again, and that thought breaks my heart.
I realize that my feelings may sound dramatic to some. The terms “heartbreak” and “mourning” may seem excessive, but that’s how it feels for me. Five signifies the end of a chapter. The sweet little one who spent countless sleepless nights with me, who struggled with potty training, and who had a meltdown over peas is now preparing to leave home. Sure, I will always be her mother, but the complete dependence she has on me is fleeting, and it’s hard to let go.
I’ve been aware of this transition since I enrolled her in preschool. Those few half-days each week have equipped her with so many skills. She can wait her turn, drink from a cup, clear her plate, and even handle bathroom trips on her own. She’s mastered letter formation with an earnest effort to write her name—each of these skills is a stepping stone for her transition to kindergarten in just a few months.
I don’t want to hold her back; she needs to grow and flourish. I adore the artwork she proudly shares after coloring within the lines. I could listen to her recite the Pledge of Allegiance all day, her face lighting up as she places her hand over her heart. But I’d be lying if I said I didn’t wish I could hold on to her four-year-old self for a little longer. Four is magical. She can engage in thoughtful conversations, sing along to her favorite songs, and enjoy games like Old Maid. When she snuggles up to me for a quick nap after a busy morning at preschool, I savor those fleeting moments of her babyhood.
Recently, she has developed a habit of sneaking into our bed in the middle of the night. I know I should take her back to her own room, but I can’t bring myself to do it. This is my last chance to enjoy these little moments. My nearly 13-year-old son certainly isn’t coming in for hugs at 2 AM! When I asked her why she comes in, she said, “Because I think about where you are and I miss you.” Who wouldn’t cherish that?
As she approaches five, she is becoming more independent. She wants privacy in the bathroom and prefers to dress herself. After a bath, she confidently brushes her own hair and teeth without needing reminders. In the mornings, she chooses her outfits and asserts her preferences. It feels like just yesterday that I was strapping her into her car seat, and now she buckles herself in with pride. Time has flown by.
We’re on the brink of homework, packed lunches, and uniforms. The only choice she’ll have in the fall will be her bow and shoes. Her cousin is already in kindergarten, and she’s eager to wear the same uniform. I registered her for kindergarten last month and found myself in tears while driving away from the school. She’s getting ready, but I’m still in denial. Where did my baby go? Why can’t time slow down? I wish I could have just a little more time.
But my longing to keep her at four isn’t fair. She has an exciting world waiting for her. As I drive her brothers to school, she lights up at the sight of the playground she’ll soon enjoy. She waves at the teachers, and while I’d be lying if I said sending her to kindergarten during a pandemic doesn’t add to my sadness, I know that’s just part of our current reality.
She is beautiful, intelligent, and strong. I know she will achieve wonderful things, and it all begins at five. If I know my girl, she’s going to embrace this new adventure with enthusiasm. I look forward to her first holiday program and proudly displaying her artwork on the fridge. We’ll tackle homework and practice sight words together. But until that moment arrives, I’m savoring every second of her being four. We’ll continue our afternoon outings and skip the occasional Tuesday to spend time with her cousin. I will always make room for her in my bed at night, cherishing these fleeting moments because childhood is so short.
While I may never have a four-year-old again, I will have many more years of five, six, seven, and beyond. I feel honored to be their mother; they complete me. Though I miss the early years, I see how they are blossoming into amazing individuals. When the time comes for my last little one to turn five, I will bid farewell to four, embrace five, and welcome all the adventures it brings.
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Summary:
My daughter is on the brink of turning five, and I find myself grappling with a sense of loss as this milestone approaches. As my youngest, she represents the end of an era filled with babyhood and dependence. While I am excited for her to embrace the adventures that lie ahead, I am also cherishing every moment of her remaining time as a four-year-old. The transition to kindergarten marks a significant change, and I am both proud and heartbroken as I prepare to let her take flight.
Keyphrase: My daughter is turning five
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