The Big K

It is true that if you have a baby, he or she will probably grow up and one day go to kindergarten. But you don't think about this when you're in the hospital . . . or when the baby turns 1 or 2. I'd say you have a good, solid two years without thinking about it. Kindergarten is the last thing on your mind. Even if you try to imagine it, you can't.

But it is true. And it happened. Anna started kindergarten this week. I was taken back to two years ago, the day before she started preschool, and I feel kind of the same. Then, I took her shopping to pick out a backpack and we went out to lunch and got a special treat. I wanted it to be a special occasion. When we got home, I realized that I had to celebrate it or else I would cry. Truthfully, I was excited for a bit of a break and I knew she would love it, the little smarty pants. But it also meant that she had reached an important milestone meaning that she was no longer my little baby. Officially. I could no longer kid myself into thinking that because she had her own backpack now. And I wasn't around to see how things got inside it.

This time around, I'm honestly very excited for Anna. She loves to learn and she needs to spend more time around kids, as she gets quite a bit of adult attention around here. I think she will love the whole experience (because kindergarten is totally fun, right?). I'm also excited to have her busy and growing while I can do other things. I'm excited to have some more structure for her instead of the—though at times fun and relaxing and necessary—aimless pace of summer.

But I'm sad, all at the same time, for all that it means. She's now a part of the system. She has an even bigger backpack now. And this milestone is a kind of loss. I think this is another one of the beginning-of-the-end moments that all parents have to go through, probably so that we don't go bananas when the kid you've put a lot of time and effort into moves out and goes to college. It's just like when they learn to walk; it's bittersweet because you know that soon they'll be able to run away from you. Or when they learn to talk. It's so cute and miraculous at first, but then they say "go away!" for the first time and with perfect diction and it's not nearly as cute. Or like when they learn to write their name. Little do you know then, but soon they'll be signing their name on their first rent check when they leave you behind. (Ha ha. That one was lame.)

Or like when your child walks into kindergarten the whole first week of school without looking back. Not so much as a hint of "I'll miss you, Mom." The rational part of me says I'd rather have it this way over a whole messy crying scene as we part. And I think that this suggests that she is indeed old enough and she can handle it, but still. But still. It is the essence of bittersweet. At least she makes for a super cute kindergartener and is loving it so far. I guess it'll be okay. But maybe doing some backpack ballet might help.