It hit me this morning.
I’ve been holding it together, dwelling on the positives of your swiftly approaching venture, but this morning, it hit me like a bag of bricks.
You woke up at 9:20 a.m. and found me still in bed—we slept in, recovering from a weekend spent camping with friends. You crawled in and cuddled up, your head resting on my chest like when you were a baby, my heart exploding just underneath you.
That time means nothing to you, I know, but it is precisely the time in one short month that I will be sending you off into a brand new world without me in it.
It’s the time we’ll walk up to a door where a smiling woman will be ready to embrace you, and as heart-wrenching as it will be, we’ll have to part ways. I’ll have to let you go, and you the same.
That door, if you let it, will lead you much farther than you might expect—discovery and growth, friendship and imagination.
One month from today we’ll approach that daunting classroom door, my boy, but only one of us will walk through it that time.
Up until this point, we’ve spent our days doing just as we please with few exceptions.
Waking up with the sun and darting outside. Sleeping in and lounging around. Playing and exploring and learning all the while.
So this morning, it hit me.
It hit me that this is all about to change.
I find myself questioning how it could possibly be that time already.
Wasn’t it just yesterday I held you in my arms, unsure of everything but the incomparable love I had for you?
I’m going to be a bit of a wreck at first, if I’m being completely honest. It’s only natural for this mama whose heart walks around outside her body.
It’s only natural as you, my little one, learn to need me a little less.
For the record, you might be a bit of a wreck too. That, my son, is just as natural.
It’s just as natural as you embark on this unfamiliar journey without my steadfast presence in sight.
Yes, without a doubt, things are about to change for us. I’m not sure how we got here, but here we are nonetheless.
And it’s only natural.