My sweet baby girl starts kindergarten in the morning. And her mama has been a basket case…. My emotions have been all over the place, but
not just in the cliché, my-baby-girl-is-all-grown-up way. Yes there’s been some of that, and I expected
that. But I didn’t expect the rest.
Something that feels a little like grief.
I am grieving not just the loss of my biggest girl (I DO
have 2 others to savor in the daytime hours still…) Yes, I will miss her fiercely. I’ll miss our lazy mornings in pajamas (as
lazy as you can be when you are sifting through 47 loads of laundry), the
what-do-you-want-to-do-today feeling… playdates
and the library and the zoo and the grocery store. I’ll miss casually doing life, taking time
for granted, even wishing it away at
times. Oy.
But I’m also missing the end of a season. The season that is young motherhood. The season that is pajamas and spit up and
unwashed hair. The season that is
snuggles and anxiety and laughter and tantrums.
The season of not knowing what you’re doing, and it’s ok, because you’re
not SUPPOSED to know what you’re doing.
You’re allowed to-expected to-
sweat the small stuff. I feel like, 5
years in, I just was getting in the groove.
Figuring out the kind of mom I am, and being ok with it. And now, the game is changing. My introverted self secretly loved the expectation
of hours at home, relished the difficulty of getting out of the house. It was a welcome excuse. Daily drop offs and pick-ups and class sign-up
sheets make me feel a little like I can’t breathe.
I don’t know who I am in this next season. I know who I am not (room mom, duh!). But I am waiting for the Lord to show me who
I am. I don’t have any answers, or a
tidy bow or tidbit to take with me to drop off in the morning. I have gratitude for my girl and who she is
becoming. I have a bittersweet joy for
the years she patiently taught me how to mother. I grieve the loss of our young family, our “three
under 5,” while I wait expectantly, nervously, for who we will become.
