He's gone . . .

I have been dreading this day for a very, very long time.

I realized it was getting closer in May when I attended his preschool graduation.

And now, the day is here.

My baby, my sweet and innocent, beautiful baby is officially a kindergartener. And I hate it.

I keep thinking back to the very first day he was home with me. I was sitting in my recliner, gazing down at this magnificent creature in awe. I had made him. All by myself (well, with a minor assistance from his father. But seriously, the microscopic assistance Travis offered is nothing compared to the work I did.). And I did a fabulous job, if I do say so myself. He was perfect and beautiful in each and every way I had ever imagined one of my babies would be. I dreamed of his life as I sat there gazing at his sweet puckered mouth, his insanely long lashes resting on his cheek in sleep, and sighed. School seemed like such a long way away. I had five years, after all, and that is a long time!

His first night home. So tiny. So innocent. So . . . yellow. (jaundice)

Two months old. This has always been a favorite picture of mine.

He was a smiley, happy baby. Always giggling. I still love his giggle.

My lil chunky monkey learning to crawl.

No.

Five years is not a long time.

It goes by in the blink of an eye.

Bryce has been eager for this day all summer. He woke up early and dressed himself in a mismatched outfit. He sat at the patio doors while I struggled to wake up with the world's strongest cup of coffee. I wasn't as eager as he to start this day. He began to dance around and complain loudly when the school buses began to arrive at eight o'clock. I gently reminded him that his day didn't start until 12:10 (thank God!) And so, he sat.

And waited.

Impatiently asking me what time it was every few minutes.

At eleven, I fed him lunch.

At eleven thirty, I got him dressed.

At eleven forty-five, I carefully washed his face, brushed his teeth, and combed his hair just right.

At eleven fifty., I took him outside and had him pose for some pictures. He complained a bit, so excited to walk across the parking lot to his new school, his new teacher, his new friends, his new life.

See? Not happy with having to pose. It's tough being a photographer's kid.

At noon, we walked across the parking lot. More pictures. More posing. More complaints. We walked into the school at five after Noon. He posed with his teacher, with his locker, and next to his table. I put his things away for him. My lips quivered as they smiled. My throat felt tight and my head was starting to pound. Bryce stood up on his tip toes to kiss me goodbye, his strong boy arms grasping my neck in a tight hug.


I hate this fake smile of his. I have seen it a lot lately.



"Love you, Mama. To the moon and back," he whispered into my hair. I gulped back the sob and squeezed him close, inhaling his little boy scent that only belongs to him.

"I love you too, Buggie." I choked and stood up as he turned away from me. He high fived his dad before leaning up for the kiss. He even hugged his brother good bye. And then . . . he walked away.

I can't handle this part.

I turned from the classroom blindly, unable to hold it together anymore and not wanting to embarrass myself in front of the class, the school, the parents and teachers, everyone. But, mostly, I didn't want Bryce to see me upset. He was so excited. He was so happy. I didn't want to ruin his moment. But, I had to stop. Someone else had beat me to the tears and sobbing.

Bubba.

He didn't want to leave his brother. "Come home wis me, come pway wis me," he wailed. I scooped him up in my arms and rested my cheek next to his and rushed out of the school, the tears freely flowing, my confused husband following in my wake. I didn't make it into the house. I gave Bubba to Travis and pushed them inside and collapsed into the chair in my garage and attempted to get control of myself.

It took a while. Images of the beautiful newborn, a chubby toddler, toothless grins, and high pitched giggles kept assaulting me. It was a good ten minutes before I calmed down enough to present myself in front of others. Trav just watched me sympathetically as I walked into the house. I poured myself a soda and sat on the couch. He knew better than to ask me if I felt better. He knew better than to ask what was wrong. He just held me and stroked my back and kissed my hair. And that's what I needed.

Because then . . . then, I felt stupid. I felt dumb falling apart like that. After all, it's just kindergarten, right? It's not like he is never coming home.

It just means he is growing up. I wasn't ready for it. But, now that I have dipped my toes in the water, I am starting to warm up. It will be fine, I know it.

Don't talk to me in two years, though. When it's Bubba's turn, it's gonna take me much, much longer to recover.

Mrs. Huska, Bryce's teacher.