Fifteen more days until I send my baby off to kindergarten. Fifteen more days that I can keep him all to myself. Hold him whenever I want. Squeeze him whenever I want. And then we begin the slow release. Five and a half years have rushed past in the flutter of an eyelash, so I know these 15 days will be gone before I can take a breath. I'll walk him to school and wave good bye as he walks through the door. And then I have to turn and walk away. I've done school before. I've been a student. I've been a teacher. Now I enter the final frontier as--the parent. Eek!
When you are first expecting a baby they tell you it will be wonderful and scary and beautiful and ugly and amazing and terrifying and fun and awful. And you listen and nod. But they can't tell you just how much love is injected into your veins the second that slippery baby is flopped on your belly and you catch a fleeting glimpse of the Love of God towards His own. And you sit up at night nursing that tiny bit of silky soft sweetness watching him breathe and listening to him grunt and you stand at the edge of the ocean of comprehension. But you still don't get it. You hurt when he hurts. Your heart breaks at his failures and soars with his successes. You start to understand what your mother and father feel for you. You cry at weddings now--because someday--you finally realize--you will be the Mother or Father of the bride/groom and you'll have to let go.
Still you hold on to that tiny baby, that wobbly toddler, that confident pre-schooler. And then the day comes when you have to begin the apron string cutting process.
My Ezra could not be more excited for his first day of kindergarten. He's been counting down the days for the past year. I'm glad. But it won't make it any easier to watch him walk away. When you are expecting your first child they can tell you how much you'll love your baby. But they can't make you understand.