Mother of Peanut

Call me Mother of the Year.

I had plans for a different blog today. It was going to be all about the Wonder Toddler's first day of preschool, and how he reacted. I sat down, ready to discourse on the joys of the miniature playground and how he didn't want to leave it, his inability to sit still during the story, and how his teachers handled the inevitable shoving matches he started. And then it hit me.

My baby's not a baby anymore.

For those who have seen Peanut recently, this is all too obvious. But not to me. At least, not before yesterday. I can still see the innocent baby he was in the boy he is. I see it in the way he wants to climb into bed with Boomer and me first thing in the morning. He still requires hugs as he watches SuperWHY, and will not nap without a sippy cup of water.

But now I'm seeing other things.

I see an independent little boy who loves riding his tricycle around our neighborhood, who likes to walk beside me rather than hold my hand. I see a boy who wants to comfort someone smaller than him who is crying rather than focus on his own needs. I see that his friends are getting a bigger place than I currently occupy.

I know that it's a part of growing up and being independent. I know that I'm doing my job well enough that he feels comfortable with himself to let me go.

But it still hurts. And he's only three and a half. And I don't want to let go.

But I will. I will help him stand in line with the other kids and ask for a hug that he will fleetingly give before walking into the wonders of preschool. And if my heart breaks while I smile and say goodbye, well, that's for the other (perceptive) mommies to see. Not my baby who is no longer a baby. And I can smile, knowing that he is well-cared for and will learn what I cannot teach him. The joy of playing with friends, the wonder of knowledge gained, and the comfort of loved ones at the end of the school day. My job is not over, but it's time to let others help with the teaching of Peanut. I need to be wise enough to allow it.

Call me Mother of the Year.