When Lucas was born, there was something almost mystical about him. He reminded me of a wise little creature from a storybook, possessing a serene demeanor—well, as serene as a newborn can be. Truthfully, it was a bit unsettling at first, as though he was constantly observing and evaluating me. When my father held him for the first time, he mused that before I knew it, I would be shopping for a school bag. I genuinely believed I might not last that long, convinced that I would succumb to exhaustion and anxiety in the days following his arrival.
Fast forward to a few days ago when the bright orange camouflage backpack, complete with a matching lunch box, arrived at our doorstep. And yet, here I am, still standing.
Lucas has been attending daycare since he was just 12 weeks old. I didn’t shed a tear when I left him there on his inaugural day. I’ve entrusted him to grandparents, day camps, and playgroups, leaving him for hours, sometimes days. With our recent move and frequent travels, we’ve adapted to the rhythm of hellos and goodbyes, navigating separation, new educators, and different routines.
However, I’m struggling to understand why this impending transition to kindergarten feels so daunting. The essence of our daily life remains unchanged. We will rise, have breakfast, prepare lunch, and bid farewell. Lucas will head off to school, while I work from home. It should be business as usual. Yet, at this moment, with the first day at the bus stop looming, everything feels different.
I scroll through social media, viewing snapshots of friends whose children have already embarked on their school journey. Conversations with other parents reveal a common truth: everyone survives that first day. Deep down, I know this is what we desire for our children—to grow, learn, embark on new adventures, and form friendships. Lucas will learn to read—how incredible is that?
Yet, alongside this excitement, I sense something crucial slipping away—time, specifically. If the last five and a half years have flown by, how rapidly will the next thirteen pass? Will I manage to keep pace? Will I remain engaged? Will I be able to hold on?
Looking back on the past years, I harbor no regrets. Our time together has been remarkable, even during the challenging, exhausting, and demanding moments. We’ve shared cuddles, afternoon naps, and sunny days at the playground. I don’t wish I had breastfed longer or spent more time at home, or enrolled him in more classes. We did what worked for us—imperfect, complicated, and often messy, yet ultimately joyful.
As we face kindergarten, I wish I felt a sense of accumulated wisdom about parenting. It often feels like I’m perpetually catching up, breathless, navigating one challenge after another. Just when I think I’ve mastered an issue, a new one arises, and I’m left scrambling for answers. Throughout the day, I find myself explaining everything from anatomy to the mysteries of the universe, and even why chocolate cannot be consumed for dinner. It’s bewildering, exhausting, and exhilarating. At the end of each day, I’m acutely aware that one or more of my responses may have been unclear or lost in translation.
The landscape of parenting shifts daily, and I must remain composed and consistent every moment. Thus, I feel uncertain about whether I possess the right answers—those that provide comfort and guidance—when it comes to topics like school, teachers, homework, sports, and the like. The questions seem to grow more complex, influenced by the subtle nuances of life that Lucas is beginning to comprehend. I want to ensure I don’t hinder his growth. School is pivotal; its impact will resonate throughout his life.
Perhaps this is why the transition to kindergarten feels so challenging. I feel as though my parenting is under scrutiny. Everything I’ve done thus far will be examined. Can he sit still? Can he write his name? Is he kind to his peers? Can he advocate for himself? Does he feel empowered to take risks, learn, and evolve? Have I provided enough love, time, and attention to lay a strong foundation for his future? Will school dismantle what I have built, or will it transform it into something extraordinary?
I know that soon we will settle into our new routine, and it will feel natural and familiar. Just as we forget the pain of childbirth or the precise moment our child first smiled, I will forget the comforting days of preschool. School will become our new normal. I cannot explain how my little bundle of joy has transformed into a boy who just today broke a wooden board with his elbow during Taekwondo, displaying a strong opinion about his backpack color. I’m unsure whether this transformation is due to my influence, natural development, or perhaps a touch of magic or divine intervention, but if I had to speculate, it’s likely a combination of all these factors.
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In summary, the transition to kindergarten is a profound moment filled with mixed emotions, as parents grapple with the passage of time and the complexities of ensuring their child is prepared for the journey ahead.