Tuesday is the first "real" day of school, complete with lunch-packing and bus-riding.
Tonight I'm doing the final prep, gathering the supplies I purchased from the list and running out for a few last minute additions. (Baby wipes? We have no bathroom issues at this point. Please, PLEASE let's keep it that way!)
I have no words. There is a lump in my throat, an ache in my chest.
My face has that feeling like there are weights pulling my cheeks down. I don't know, maybe that doesn't happen to other people. I know the feeling well and I'm not happy to be having it again now. It usually happens when I'm sad which I am. But I'm also not. Sad for me, not for Jack.
He is calmly acceptant. Not excited per se but certainly not freaking out. He may be worried inside but he is keeping his cool, keeping his own counsel. One more sign that he is ready, that he is growing up. I am so proud that I'm practically bursting from it. He will do fine. Better than fine, that hated word, he'll do GREAT.
So will I. Eventually. Like him, I'll keep my cool because he feeds off my energy and I want this to be easy for him. Inside though, I make no promises to be brave. I never make promises I can't keep.
Tom doesn't understand how I feel. He isn't dismissive of my feelings, he just doesn't "get" them. How could he? While he knows this is a rite of passage and a milestone in his son's childhood, it doesn't change much for him. Jack will still be here most mornings when Tom is getting ready for work and he'll be home from school before Tom leaves the office at the end of the day. In Tom's view, the status quo will remain intact.
Not so for me. This change is huge. Seismic. My Best Boy, my buddy will spend most of his waking hours away from me. My constant companion will be gone, his ever-running commentary silenced. It is going to be lonesome, bizarre, wrong-feeling. Quiet. So very quiet, especially once The Madam returns to preschool in a few weeks.
I'll adjust but I'm not lying, it will be hard.
This is the downside of leaving my career to raise my children. I am so very attached to them -- their presence, their kisses, the joy they bring to my days. If I'd gone back to work when they were infants, I would long be past the trauma of separation. Kindergarten would not be such a shock to my system. On the contrary, it would be a boon to my budget. I'd be glad for it, welcoming the hours of free child care after years of heavy daycare payments like many of my friends are.
I wouldn't change history though. Not a minute of it. The ache I'll feel as I get used to my weekdays without him is nothing compared to the happiness of the time we spent together, doing everything and nothing. No amount of money could ever compare to those ordinary-yet-extraordinary everyday moments with all 3 of my babies and I am so grateful that I am able to be here with them all of the time. I've known I wanted to live this life since I was not much more than a little girl myself and it has been everything I hoped for and more.
When people say I don't work, they have no idea how right they are. I sing, dance, clean, chauffeur, cook, demonstrate, negotiate, explore, referee, teach, craft and a thousand other things but I do not work. Nothing grueling or obligatory about my life, not any more.
Oh how I wish I could continue to pay his preschool tuition and keep his afternoons free for a little while longer.
But I can't. Full-day kindergarten is the only option in our district so even though I think it's way too long of a day for a young child to be cooped up, I have no choice. Off he goes and here I stay, looking forward to seeing his smiling, exhausted face greeting me at the bus stop each afternoon. How long until summer vacation?
Hmmm, I guess I had words after all. Imagine that.
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