Indescribable Fondness!

Andy's preschool graduation is on Wednesday.  The director sent an email today stating that, as parents, we will look back on these preschool years with an "indescribable fondness."  I'm sure that's putting it lightly.  I can't believe Andy is almost in kindergarten, that he's flown through these first stages so quickly.  Baby, toddler, preschooler.  And now he's going to walk across that stage and leave it all behind.  I can already see his smile.  I know how proud he will be, and I know that he will wave to me in that uninhibited way of his. That's Andy, the only boy I ever hear at the park to shout his love for his mother across six yards of mulch.  That will end at some point soon, I'm sure.  And it's a good thing I can picture his smile and walk across that preschool stage in my mind, because I might miss the actual event due to the blur of tears in my eyes.  Or because I'm in labor (fingers crossed that I don't go into labor anytime before the exact moment that I'm personally ready, just like nature intended.).

Andy at preschool.

Of parenting, it's said that the days are long but the years are short.  I get that, I deeply get that. To further expound on that, I feel like lately I have been a less than ideal parent, shuffling these kids through the motions until we reach the ultimate goal of bedtime.  I just try to survive each eternal day, my patience for two perfectly normally behaved children worn so thin that I can feel myself shaking as I try not to snap.  There are all of the excuses, of course.  The move.  The pregnancy.  I'm tired, hormonal, and my body hurts.  I'm still overwhelmed with the feeling that I live in someone else's house, still panicky about aspects of the move even though it's somehow all over, somehow all over for almost two months now.  I can't move as fast.  I'm having contractions more frequently than I ever did with the boys.  I'm up to my neck in worries over adding a third kid to the mix.  And I fear that I may need a root canal.  So those are my excuses for struggling to get through the days.  But these days are stacking up like cards in a deck, and now my oldest child is leaving behind such a young, sweet part of his life, and my heart feels like it's just going to explode.

Alex, I'm not forgetting you; you will cross that stage, too, on Wednesday.  But your progression is easier to deny.  The kindergarten thing looms huge with Andy, especially since it's full day. Especially since he's taken there on a bus.  Especially since he'll be five- FIVE- and out there in an atmosphere that I have so little control over.  No more making friends with moms standing outside the preschool room and arranging play dates with people that seem normal.  No, now it's up to Andy to choose his own friends.  And something tells me, based on what I've seen, that many of his choices will be... abnormal.  I've seen the kids he's drawn to at the playground.  What an unsightly group of weirdos.

Andy, I'm not really okay with this graduating preschool thing.  I'm less than thrilled.  But I have no choice but to embrace it, to celebrate with you and to enthusiastically shepherd you forward into your bright little future, even if a small part of me has to fake it.  I want you to know how extremely proud I am of you, my first little baby who once fit so perfectly into the crook of my arm.  The good news is that you still fit pretty perfectly into my arms, even if there's so much more of you now.  The good news is that as much as you've grown, you are, for now, still mostly mine.  And as hard as some of the individual days might be, I want you to know that these have been the best years of my life.  So forgive me for the following things.  Being short of patience lately.  Needing to nap more.  Needing to pace around the house alternating between baby worries and house issues (most of which involve poor spackling jobs or trying to calculate the decibels of floor squeaks).  Rushing you through tasks. Not giving you my full attention all of the times you deserve it.  I hope I can get my act together after this baby gets here, but, man.  I'm going to really have to work on it.  I promise I will try my best. Really.

Your preschool career has been extraordinary, if I may use that word.  Your teachers love you and have nothing but good things to say about you.  In the past year, you have done extremely well.  Your teacher told me that everyday, an extra good listener gets to sit on the special purple X during circle time.  Guess who sits there the most?  Guess who deserves to sit there EVERYDAY according to your teacher?  YOU!  It's just a small thing, this purple X.  But it's indicative of so much more.  And it's one more reminder of what a great kid I have.  Andy, I will be so happy to see you cross that stage on Wednesday.  Even if I'm also sad.  And even if I'm standing in a puddle of my own amniotic fluid because the emotional intensity of the whole thing has sent me into labor.

I'll bring a couple towels.  I love you boys, Andy and Alex.  Congratulations.