I always pictured myself packing my kids’ lunches, carefully picking each item, adding sweet notes, and balancing healthy options with their favorite foods and a special treat. I imagined how happy they’d be when they found that little extra something I included just for them.
As cheesy as it might sound, the idea of doing this for my kids always seemed fun. It wasn’t just about putting together a lunch—it was about showing them love, even when I couldn’t be with them.
And now, that time has finally come. My little one is off to school, and here I am, standing in the kitchen late at night, packing his lunch with as much care and thought as I can.
And I enjoy it. But it’s also bittersweet.
There’s a struggle within me, not because packing lunches feels like a chore or another task on the long list of mom duties. No, it’s not about the work itself.
It’s the realization that every day, as I prepare his lunch, I’m also getting ready to send him into the world without me. I’m giving him what he needs to get through the day, but I’m not there to hold his hand, to comfort him when things get tough, or to share in his joy when something makes him smile.
He’s been out there before—he’s gone to preschool, he’s spent time away from me—but this feels different. He’s ready for this, I know he is. But now, it’s all day. Every day. And for all the years to come. This is the beginning of a new time, one where our time together becomes less and less as he grows older and more independent.
It hits me hard.
Maybe it’s because he’s my first. My firstborn, my first little love, the first to teach me what it means to be a mom. This is a new journey for him, a new chapter for me—a chapter I need to grow into, to learn from, to handle with as much grace as I can.
I never knew how much 3:15 would mean to me—the time of day when the school bell rings, and I can finally bring him back home. How eagerly I’d watch the clock, counting down the minutes, longing to see his face, to hear about his day, to know that he’s back where he belongs, even if only for a little while.
It’s not that I’m not happy for him or proud of him. Because I am, in every way. He’s growing, learning, becoming his own person, and that’s something to celebrate. But it’s just that I’m sharing more time with him than I ever have before. Time that, until now, was ours alone.
I know this is part of being a parent. It’s part of going through stages, of letting go little by little as they become more independent. Every year brings more growth, more change—more time to grow apart, but in the same way, more time to grow together. I can see the ways he’s growing, and I can see the ways I need to grow too, as his mom.
I miss him being home. I miss the way the house feels when he’s here—the noise, the chaos, the constant demands for my attention. And with three, you’d think I’d be ready for this. I thought I’d be ready. I thought I’d welcome the quieter moments, the chance to focus on other things. But my heart still feels heavy.
As crazy as it sounds, I miss the loudness. I miss the craziness. I miss him needing me throughout the day. It’s a little quieter these days. The house still feels full, but there’s a noticeable absence, a missing piece I feel deep inside.
And I’m sure I’ll get more used to it, day by day. I’ll adjust, as we all do. Life moves forward, and so must I. But I know I’ll never regret my time, my presence with my kids. I’ll never look back and say I wasn’t there.
Because I was.
All in. Knee deep.
Through the good and the hard. Through the quiet and the loud. Through the smiles and the tears.
They say you blink and they grow.
And it’s true.
My son starting kindergarten showed me that in a way I wasn’t ready for. It made me realize even more that time is short, and that these moments of togetherness are precious and few.
I think I’ll start appreciating time a little bit more. I’ll savor the moments we have, no matter how simple they may seem. Because I know now, more than ever, how quickly they pass.
He’ll always be my son. My firstborn. My little boy. But he’s always going to keep growing. They all will. And it’ll break me at times, watching them grow away from me. But it’ll also shape me, strengthen me, and remind me of what’s really important.
It makes my job so much more important. Being their mom, teaching them, growing along with them, nurturing them, caring for them, unconditionally loving them—these things will always be my greatest calling. The love I pour into them now will be the foundation they stand on as they step out into the world, one lunchbox at a time.
And I’ll cherish every moment, every stage, knowing that I was there, present and loving, through it all.
Because in the end, that’s what matters most. That I was there. That I loved them deeply and fully. That I gave them everything I had to give, every single day.
by Caitlin Q. Bailey O'Neill 
by Megan Launchbaugh 
by Carolyn Moore 
