Mort has started first grade. If you do not have a school-age child, this will not seem monumental. But it really really is.I thought once I had accepted and adapted to kindergarten, I would be okay. But the beginning of first grade brought an equal amount of tears (from me, not him--he was excited to begin anew) and an equal feeling of loss and worry and fear and sorrow. He is doing what he should be doing:creating his own life, beginning the process of moving away from me. I suffer the emotions of every mother in that I want him back so that I can better appreciate and savor those moments of him learning to lift his head and discovering his feet and the sound of his baby laughter at a dozing, sun-soaked Stella.
I read somewhere that the first 20 years of your life are the longest. And I can still recall the agonizing slowness with which those years did seem to trickle. Each month was an eternity, always waiting and waiting for that next milestone. But as a parent, these past six years have literally passed(cliche alert) in the blink of an eye;overnight I awoke and no longer was I pregnant, but instead I had a first grader.
He loves school. He loves his teacher. He starts every day with a smile and ends every day with a smile. But my heart hurts with every lunch I pack. Last year he automatically held my hand as we crossed the parking lot and hugged me and kissed me and waved until I couldn't see him anymore. This year he runs through the doors with barely a good-bye and certainly does not have time to spare a backward glance for me, not knowing or caring that I watch until I know he is safe. And I do know intellectually that this means we are doing a good job, Duke and I. That Mort is secure and content. But finally I understand that quote that having children is to have your heart forever walking around outside of your body.
1 comment:
I so hear you, Mama. It hurts. Bad.
Post a Comment