When Leo came into the world, there was something almost magical about him. He reminded me of a wise little creature, perhaps a baby Yoda or a forest elf. His eyes seemed to hold a depth of understanding, and he had an unusual tranquility—well, for an infant. Honestly, it was a bit unsettling at first, as though he was silently critiquing my every move. I can still hear my dad saying that in no time, I’d be off buying him a school bag. Back then, I thought I wouldn’t last long enough to see that day, convinced I’d be consumed by sleepless nights and anxiety within weeks of his arrival.
Fast forward to just a few days ago when the orange camouflage backpack, complete with a matching lunchbox, arrived at our doorstep. And here I am, still standing.
Since he was just 12 weeks old, Leo has been in daycare. I didn’t shed a tear when I left him on that first day. I’ve entrusted him to grandparents, day camps, and playdates. We’ve moved around quite a bit and traveled often, so we’re accustomed to hellos and goodbyes, and all the ups and downs in between. We’ve learned to navigate separation, new teachers, and fresh routines.
So, why is this upcoming transition to kindergarten hitting me so hard? The core of our daily life won’t change. We’ll rise, grab breakfast, pack lunch, and then part ways. Leo will head to school while I tackle my work at home. It should feel like business as usual. Yet, as the first day at the bus stop looms closer, it doesn’t feel that way at all.
Scrolling through social media, I see friends posting photos of their little ones starting school. I chat with other moms, and I know that everyone makes it through that first day. Ultimately, we want our kids to flourish, learn, make new friends, and have exciting adventures. Soon enough, Leo will be able to read a book—how amazing is that?
But it feels like I’m losing something significant in the process, something precious. Time, for instance. If the last five and a half years zipped by so quickly, how rapidly will the next thirteen fly? Can I keep up? Will I remain engaged? Can I hold on tight enough?
Looking back, I have no regrets about those past five and a half years. We shared incredible moments, even during the challenging times. We enjoyed snuggles, cozy afternoon naps, and sunny playground days. I don’t wish I had breastfed longer or spent more time at home or enrolled him in more music classes. We did what was best for us, imperfect and messy, but ultimately filled with joy.
As we face this kindergarten milestone, I can’t help but wish I possessed more wisdom about parenting. It often feels like I’m in a constant race, scrambling from one challenge to the next. Just when I think I’ve got one thing figured out, a new question arises. In a single day, I find myself explaining everything from the purpose of his body parts to why the sky is blue, how cars function, and the mysteries of ancient Egypt. It’s overwhelming, and at the end of each day, I can’t help but think that some of my answers might have gotten lost in translation. There’s no way to master this parenting gig, as the rules change daily, and I need to remain calm and consistent.
That’s why I feel so uncertain about whether I truly have the right answers when it comes to school, bullies, teachers, homework, sports, and field trips. The questions seem to get tougher, with answers that are increasingly complex, influenced by the subtleties of life that Leo is beginning to understand. I genuinely don’t want to mess this up for him. I need to get it right. School is more significant than any transition we’ve faced thus far, and its impact will ripple through his life.
Perhaps this is why kindergarten feels so daunting—it feels like an evaluation. Everything I’ve done up to this point is under scrutiny. Can he sit still? Can he write his name? Is he kind? Can he advocate for himself? Does he feel confident taking risks and learning? Have I provided enough love, attention, and space to build a solid foundation? Will school dismantle what I’ve constructed, or will it transform it into something magnificent?
I know that in a few weeks, we’ll settle into our new routine, and everything will begin to feel natural again. Much like how we forget the pain of childbirth or the exact moment our baby first smiled, I suspect I’ll forget the comforting days of preschool. School will soon feel like the norm. I can’t quite grasp how this memory fades or how we adapt to change, but it does.
I also find it incredible how the goo in the orange cup has morphed into a boy who just yesterday broke a wooden board with his elbow in Taekwondo class and has his own opinions about the color of his backpack. I can’t pinpoint if it’s my parenting, science, magic, or divine intervention, but I suspect it’s a blend of it all.
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In summary, preparing for kindergarten is a bittersweet experience filled with excitement and apprehension. While I cherish the moments we’ve shared, I also grapple with the uncertainty of this new chapter in Leo’s life. As he embarks on his educational journey, I hope to remain an anchor for him, navigating the challenges together.