To the One Who Made Me a Mom,
Before you start kindergarten, there are some things I need you to know. I’m not ready. I’m not ready to let you go and start the real world. You’re just a tender five years old right now, and though the world dictates that you are in fact ready for school, as does your stylish fashion sense emulating Punky Brewster, I am just not.
You see, back when you were born, I gave up my career to stay home with you, to protect and shelter you from the big scary world. I’ve tried to teach you the most important things I want you to know about life (and I will forever do my best to make sure that you know those things), but I know my job will never be done.
I gave up a lot and sacrificed a lot, and we have always figured it out. The last five years have been the hardest and best of my life. You came into this life rocking mine and your daddy’s world, and we’re all better because of it. You’ve taught us so much about ourselves and make us strive to be the best version of ourselves every single day. You did that.
As life always does, it has changed and shifted, and while you’ve been growing, I’ve been growing, too. I became a work-from-home mom, and you became half my size in height. Time escaped us as we were both growing. Then your little brother came along, and our world changed yet again. All for the better, but oh, have there been so many bumps along the way.
I wish I could do it all over again, because I would do it so much better. I would organize my days better, and I would make more time just for us. I know there are so many fun memories still to be had, but there’s nothing like the present staring you in the face to look back at how we got here. I question so many things about being ready for one of the biggest milestones we’re about to reach, but that’s more so for me than you.
You’re ready. There’s no doubt in my mind. You know your alphabet, how to write your name, how to share, how to add, how to load and unload your backpack and lunch kit, how to be kind, and all of the other things you’re supposed to know right now. I can’t wait for you to learn how to read and write sentences and create all the beautiful things only you can create. You’re going to do so many big things, my love.
I’m just not ready. I’m not ready for the days when you’ll be gone from me eight hours of the day. I’m not ready for us living by a school calendar to plan out our crazy adventures. I’m not ready to lose my lunch buddy. And I’m not ready to let you go. You know why? Because it tells me that time is happening all too fast. It tells me that you’re one step closer to being the person you’re meant to be in this world, and that equally terrifies me and fills me with pride.
I question if I’ve done enough, if I’ve shown you the way to be brave and patient. I wonder, “Did I yell too much? Did I show you how to try your best and listen with your full attention? Did I encourage you enough to keep trying when things are hard? Did I model that?” My sweet girl, I don’t know all the answers. It’s scary to not know.
But I do know this. I know you’re in the hands of Jesus. I’ve prayed more than I know how to pray, and I believe with my whole heart that He’ll guide you. I ask for Him to guide me every single day, and I know grace always comes in the morning to give us another chance to get it right.
When you get scared or lonely, know that it will be okay. When you fall down, get back up and keep on dancing. You’re so good at that. Be kind to others, use your manners, and never ever lose that sense of wonder. You can do all the things your big heart sets out to do. I can already picture the wonderful things that will happen in your life, and it’s nothing short of amazing.
Be brave, sweet girl. Never give up. Your mama is rooting for you (and daddy, too), and I am beyond proud of you. You’ve taught me more than you know, but now it’s your turn to be taught by others. I trust God’s plan for you is far better than I could ever control. It always is.
I’ll carry you in my heart every hour and every minute of every day, especially when we’re apart; know that you can do the same. I mean, it’s only kindergarten we’re talking about right now. ;) I love you, my baby. It’s your time to shine.
Love you forever and always,
Mommy
