There has never been a child more eager to begin kindergarten than my youngest. It felt as though she believed school held a grand secret, one she was finally being allowed to discover. In her mind, once she learned that secret, she would achieve the status that all five-year-olds dream of—being BIG.
I didn’t shed a tear as she walked to the bus, hand in hand with her brother. I didn’t cry as the bus pulled away, her little face pressed against the glass, waving and smiling. Not even when my husband and I made our way back up the hill, enveloped in an unusual silence that marked the first time we had been alone together in what felt like ages. We exchanged glances, silently asking, what now? What do we do with this newfound time?
After six years of being a stay-at-home mom, I was grappling with this change. Sure, I had experienced solitude before—my daughter had attended preschool. But that day felt distinctly different. Life had shifted in a profound way; it was as if a tiny cord connecting us had been severed, a connection I hadn’t even realized existed until that moment.
During significant milestones in our children’s lives, time seems to slow down. Every detail sharpens, colors intensify, and emotions run deep. I know I will remember that first day alone in my house for the rest of my life. Initially, I felt exhilarated: seven hours and twenty-six minutes of freedom! I could accomplish my work, plan my schedule, exercise at will, prepare dinner, and maybe even finish writing that book that has been gathering dust.
But then, I noticed her abandoned toys didn’t evoke the usual irritation. Folding her now-larger clothes filled me with a bittersweet nostalgia. Occasionally, I would forget my solitude, my mind wandering to thoughts of her: Where is she now? Is she scared? Happy? Does she have a friend? Is she eating anything at lunch?
In the quiet stillness of the afternoon, a small voice cruelly reminded me, “An important part of your job is done.” And it was. A vital chapter of my role as a mother had come to a close. I never imagined that, amid the chaos of the terrible twos and even more tumultuous threes, I would yearn for those days so soon. All those videos I recorded of my children when they were little now lay unwatched, too painful to revisit. I couldn’t bear to hear her tiny voice mispronounce “cantaloupe” as “camel milk” without feeling a pang of loss. No one warned me that the toughest part of motherhood isn’t surviving the trenches but rather climbing out of them and letting go.
When she finally returned from school that afternoon, her eyes sparkled with the knowledge of the secret that kindergarten held. She looked proud yet still needed her mom. She leapt into my embrace as though we hadn’t seen each other in weeks. In that moment, she felt so small to me, her dirty face still the one I had kissed and wiped countless times throughout her life. All I wanted was to hold her tightly and freeze time.
And yes, I cried. I was overjoyed she was home, yet I realized I still needed her too.
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In summary, transitioning to kindergarten can be an emotional journey for both children and parents alike. It marks a significant milestone that brings joy, nostalgia, and a bittersweet sense of letting go.