My Darling Boy,
Tomorrow you start kindergarten.
How can that be? It seems like only yesterday that you were handed to me in the hospital, all squishy, pink and utterly delicious. As I gazed upon your perfect little face, all scrunched up and screaming though it was, I promised you that I would never take my eyes off you, my precious boy.
And yet, tomorrow I must.
You are off to school. Not the safe confines, heavily supervised, occasional and completely optional realms of child care, but school! You are a big boy, not a baby anymore (though off the record, you’ll always be my baby. Deal with it) and now there will be so many hours in the week when I will not be able to watch you, care for you or protect you and so many hours that I cannot talk to you, listen to you and guide you. Instead, during those hours, I hand those responsibilities to your teachers.
Though I will not be with you, my head will be full of you every moment – wondering if you’re happy, if you’re making friends, if you’re being kind and respectful or if you’re kung-fu dancing in the hallways (actually I won’t be wondering that as it’s a given). And also if you are missing me as much as I will be missing you.
I feel like I’m releasing you out into the wild. I can only hope I am sending you prepared.
You are a beautiful boy with a big heart and have everything you need to be anyone you want to be and achieve anything you want in life – not least parents who will love you and be behind you all the way, whatever your choices (with the exception of serial killing and joining the Young Liberals).
I know you’re ready for this next big challenge in your life. But tonight I’m seriously wondering if I am. You are so excited and I am excited for you but a part of me is knotted up as I loosen the apron strings and let you go and grow.
It was moments ago you spoke your first words and took your first steps. And now you’re stepping out on to a new stage in your shiny new black shoes (which, incidentally, I give until the end of the day to be scuffed beyond repair).
You are my miracle. The first of two children your dad and I were told we would never have. But here you are and you are larger than life. And even now, as I tuck you into bed as a pre-schooler for the very last time, I still can’t quite believe my luck.
Enjoy your new adventure, Sweetheart.
I love you.