dear braylen, kindergarten awaits

Last week I checked your folder to find a note inside, kindergarten enrollment, and I felt my breath catch a little and my heart change speeds.

Kindergarten.

It didn’t take me by surprise, we’ve been talking about kindergarten for months now. I’ve answered all of your questions with enthusiasm and excitement. And for each time I’ve sat with you, eyes bright and eager, I’ve fought a million feelings.

We’ve talked about this grand adventure, and I’ve smiled a million smiles. Sharing your happiness, I don’t know that I’ve ever met a girl more happy about starting kindergarten. Sweet, adventurous, Braylen, I know you are going to thrive.

I followed the instructions for orientation, I found your birth certificate and the other necassary paperwork tucked in an envelope with a tiny set of footprints and a picture of us smiling in the hospital room, the day you were born.

Before I knew it I was back in that day. The day we met you. Did you know it seems like yesterday when I first looked into your bright blue eyes?

And here we are.

I cried when I talked about kindergarten with your daddy the other day. Not because I’m sad, I couldn’t be sad if I tried, I have no doubt you will love long days of playing with friends and learning new things. You’re eager and adventurous, brave and confident, kind and sensitive to others, the perfect mix of everything that is good.

There was a time when I thought I knew just how fast time was moving forward. I was rocking you to sleep, changing tiny diapers, then you were walking. One, two, three small steps and off to the next milestone. That’s when I felt it first, fleeting time. I’ll be sure to keep a close eye on it, so it doesn’t slip up on me, I thought. And just in case it does, I’ll read you one more book, and rock you a little while longer. I was sure to savor, careful not to blink.

Yet some how here we are, I promise to always live in this moment with you, to never look ahead with fear or back with regret. But goodness, those first sweet months feel so far away sometimes that I ache with a deep desire to go back just once, I’d kiss your tiny head a million more times.

Last night, when I tucked you into bed and you laid beside me, twirling my hair and telling me about your day, I stayed with you long after you drifted off to sleep. Holding your tiny hand, and brushing your curls away from your face. In the dim light of your bedroom, you looked so much like that tiny baby I used to rock in the nursery.

Just a glimpse of sweet nostalgia was what I needed. You’re still that precious baby, and you always will be. There will be plenty of big adventures in your life, as you grow up there will be many more times we stand together at a crossroads, on one side what is and on the other what is to be.

For now, I promise to remember that kindergarten still means you’re little. I promise I won’t cry in August, at least not until I get back in the car, because this is your adventure. It’s new and exciting and everything you love, and because you love it, I will too.

 I promise not to rush these days with you, not to hurry you along, there will be plenty of time for those things. I promise that I’ll never forget these days. Not ever. No matter how fast they go, no matter how tired I am, I will hold  them in my heart forever and ever.