It’s Just What I Waited For

“Watch me as I graduate

As I move on in my life, it’s really great
[that is my favorite part, mom]
It’s just what I’m waiting for,
Now it’s time to Graduate…
March 2, 3, 4 and march. March 2, 3, 4 and march.
Watch me as I graduate,
As I march around the room, it’s really great
It’s just what I’ve waited for
Now it’s time to Graduate”
Henrik has been singing this song and marching around the house most every day for the past week [not really for practice; it’s just so darn catchy, and I think he’s proud of himself]. He has been a mixed ball of emotional disaster these past few weeks as he inches towards his last day as a Kindergartener. Big long notes about how much he loves Daddy and Mommy and pictures of him with us (and no Abbott I might add. Not even going to speculate on that one). Regression in school (behavior-wise, that is), Giant tears at dinner and accusations of being tricked (you said I can’t have dessert but there was never really dessert to begin with! Why are you TRICKING ME?!) I’m reminding myself that they say that the end of the school year can be hard on kids. Fear of the next grade, fear of missing friends, fear of having to make new friends. Fear of the Unknown.

A dear, dear, dear friend of mine had her first baby late last week. As I try and answer her questions about those first vital few days life – because it’s all a mystery to her – I start to anticipate what is ahead; It all comes rushing back to me. The first time I held Henrik after his lightening speed entry into the world. How I felt bringing him home, how I wanted to be the best parent I could be, how I cried and cried and cried and called my husband in fear, in confusion at only week three. Those nights that he cried all night and I just wrapped him up and rocked him until we both re-fell asleep; me, too, with tears running down my cheeks.

From baby to boy

Those days seem years away  – and they are. Yet part of me can’t help but be confused how we got this far. People always say, “oh, they grow so fast! You can’t get that time back,” and my reply has always been – “trust me, I remember each and every day, it isn’t going too fast.” But this year, it all changed. H leaves every morning for school. He comes home and can do things that he couldn’t when he left. I don’t know how he learned it, I don’t know who taught it to him. Most of the time it’s good – and sometimes I’m shocked and a little (ha!) embarrassed. The next day we have the same challenge of getting our shoes on, the same rush to the bus, the same conversation during dinner, the same bedtime routine. Days fly by, one by one, and I don’t even know it.
Someone said to me today – “at some point they turn from little boys into *boys*” and it occurred to me for the first time that this is happening. I feel like we just got to *little boy* and now we’re already movig into *boy*. As new mommas with teensy babes, we spent many (too many) days in tiredville and unknowns. Then somewhere along the way the littles didn’t seem so fragile, and they turn into full-fledged babies. We waited on every word, every crawling moment. Soon they were walking and talking toddlers – and with opinions and naughtiness they turned into little boys.
Kindergarten is for *little boys*. But First grade is for *boys*.
I have no doubt that H gets it, too. The magnitude of getting big hasn’t been lost on him, but as he marches around the room singing his tune with this friends next Tuesday, he’ll have a huge smile on face, and I fear that it will finally be my turn with the tears.
– EC
  1. OH, I know this so well. One little to boy to boy, another full-fledged little boy who I’m afraid will turn boy too soon, and one more who is really quite little but claims that he’s “huge. really really huge.”

    The night before Owen’s 6th birthday, I got a little sentimental and hugged him and told him how it was his last night of being 5 and he surprised me by bursting into tears – he didn’t want to get bigger but he did, he wanted to hang on to how perfect things were just then, wanted to always be little enough for me to wrap him up in my arms. And when he woke up the next morning, he was thrilled to announce “I feel the same!” I think that unknown – not knowing how it’s going to feel to be in that next phase, age, grade, place, whatever — is really daunting. To all of us.

    Love this post and all it brought up for me. Thank you, ladies. xoe

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