When Oliver entered the world, he possessed an almost ethereal quality. His big, knowing eyes and a serene presence felt reminiscent of a wise elf or a tiny Yoda, a combination that both intrigued and unnerved me. My father remarked that before I knew it, I would be preparing for his school days. Truthfully, I doubted I’d last that long; I thought the sheer exhaustion of new parenthood would surely take me down before I could even dream of a school backpack.
But here we are, and the orange camouflage backpack, paired with a matching lunchbox, has just arrived. And yes, I’m still standing.
Oliver has been in daycare since he was just 12 weeks old. On his first day, I didn’t shed a tear as I left him there. We’ve navigated countless goodbyes, whether at his grandparents’ house, day camps, or playgroups. Our family has become accustomed to transitions and new routines, so why does this impending kindergarten milestone feel so heavy?
The rhythm of our daily lives won’t change drastically. We’ll still wake up, enjoy breakfast, pack lunches, and bid farewell as he heads off to school while I tackle work at home. Yet, with just days left until that first morning at the bus stop, it feels anything but routine.
Scrolling through social media, I see friends celebrating their little ones’ first days of school. I chat with other parents and know that this transition is a common one. Ultimately, we want our children to thrive, to learn, and to forge new friendships. And how amazing it will be when Oliver can read?
Yet, it feels as though something precious is slipping away—time, to be specific. If the past five and a half years flew by, how swiftly will the next thirteen pass? Will I be able to keep pace? Will I remain engaged in his life?
Looking back, I carry no regrets about these years. We’ve had wonderful moments, even amidst the chaos and challenges. From cozy cuddles to sunny days at the playground, we’ve created our unique story. I don’t wish for more time spent breastfeeding, extra days at home, or additional music classes. We embraced the imperfect, complicated, and often messy journey, and it’s been fun.
As kindergarten approaches, I find myself wishing I had accumulated wisdom along the way—some reservoir of knowledge about parenting. It often feels like I’m constantly catching up, scrambling to address one question only for another to arise. In a single day, I explain everything from the purpose of body parts to the mysteries of the universe, the intricacies of ancient civilizations, and the importance of kind language. It’s incredibly rewarding yet utterly exhausting, and I can’t help but wonder if I’ve muddled some of those answers.
The questions are becoming more complex, and I feel the weight of wanting to provide the right answers about school, friendships, homework, and more. I’m anxious about whether I’ve equipped him well enough with love, attention, and support to build a solid foundation. Will school nurture what I’ve fostered, or will it somehow disrupt it?
Perhaps this is why the shift to kindergarten feels so daunting; it feels like a test. Everything I’ve done will be scrutinized. Can he focus? Is he kind? Can he advocate for himself? Does he feel empowered to learn and take risks?
I remind myself that in a few weeks, we’ll adjust to this new routine, and it will become second nature. Just as we forget the pains of childbirth or the exact moment our child first smiled, I know I’ll adapt to this new chapter. The transition will settle, and I’ll find comfort in the new normal.
As I reflect on how the goo in that orange cup transformed into a spirited boy, who just today broke a wooden board in Taekwondo and has a strong opinion on backpack colors, I realize that the transformation is a mix of my efforts, a sprinkle of science, a dash of magic, and perhaps a touch of divine influence.
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In summary, while the transition to kindergarten looms large, I’m reminded of the incredible journey thus far and the exciting adventures that lie ahead for both Oliver and me.
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