A letter to my kindergartener,
Everyone warned me this day was coming, and I thought I was ready. But as we teeter on the precipice, this moment in time between the baby I once held so tightly to my chest and the boy you are becoming – I’m unsure how to let go.
Sure, you still need me, but not in the way you once did. Your eyes don’t search around the room for me quite as often. Your arms don’t reach out for me every moment of the day. Your hands don’t grip mine as tightly.
I can feel you slipping.
And as much as my heart is filled with pride watching you grow; it also breaks a little for time lost when I wasn’t even looking.
They warned me it went fast, but I guess I didn’t quite understand. It’s hard to see through it when you are in it. So as you enter this big new world, I pray it greets you with kindness. Yet, I’m not naïve, I know it won’t be without struggles. There will be moments where your little heart will break. Moments where you question everything and nothing all at once, but I hope you never question my love.
When you need reassurance or a hand to hold, I will lift your head up and remind you who you are.
When you need a shoulder and a listening ear, I will be your safe place.
When everything seems to be falling apart, I will be there to help you piece it back together.
When you need a cheerleader, I will be your biggest fan.
You have me, forever. Even when you stand taller than I do and the word “mom” bellows from deep within your chest. Your face full of facial hair. A full-grown man standing where my once baby stood. I will see those dimpled hands and baby blue eyes looking up at me. Etched in the corners of my mind for eternity.
Because a mother’s love never fades. It’s constant. It’s familiar and it’s home. So, while you may not need me the way you once did, I will be right behind you every step of the way.
Letting go, little by little.