My sweet Wyatt,
Well, here we are. It’s the night before kindergarten and you’re fast asleep right down the hallway. While tucking you in we had yet another in depth talk about school. It’s your way of staying up later than you should. “Mama do you want to talk about something? We can talk about school if you want.”.
I didn’t argue with you.
When you asked me if Daddy would help me clean up your brothers messes while you were away I couldn’t help but tear up. You’re my biggest helper and I know that quality will stay in your for the rest of your life. We talked about what I did in Kindergarten and how fun it was for me. You laughed when I told you about that one time I got in trouble for ripping the paper off my crayons.
You’re fast asleep now. Your stuffed puppies, Bebe and Zoey, and tucked in right next to you as you hold them tight. Part of me wishes I can send you off tomorrow with one of them, but I think I’d like them here with me.
I sat next to you as you slept, quivered your lip, and slapped your lips as if you were eating. Not much has changed since when you’d fall asleep in my arms 5 years ago. If I would’ve known 5 years ago that these feelings would overcome me so hard tonight I would’ve rocked you a tad bit longer and brushed my thumb over your cheek just one more time before laying you in your crib.
I can tell you’re nervous about tomorrow, I am too. I’ve replayed how this day will go over and over in my head. I’ve recited what I’ll say to you before walking you to your class, and exactly how I should say see you later. NOT goodbye. Although I know you’ll be back, this still feels like goodbye. A sort of informal goodbye to the little boy that once was. You’re big now, you’re strong and independent.
But you’re still small.
I want you to walk into that room and be happy. I want you to take all the knowledge those walls hold and soak them up. For tomorrow is the start of your life, my love. Tomorrow is the beginning of that journey you will travel that will lead you to adulthood.
It won’t slow down from here, and that’s okay.
Uncomfortable moments bring us to the realization of how strong we really are. Everyone is capable of great things, baby. I know you’re going to discover so many new things inside of you this year.
I wrote you a little note on your napkin in your Spiderman lunchbox, although you probably can’t read it fully, I know it’ll make your heart smile. The thought of you opening it up, knowing that your mama wrote it just for you, and beaming that sweet smile of yours, will be in my head all day.
I can’t wait to pick you up tomorrow and hear all your stories, and all the friends you’ve met.
I can’t wait for the day you boast out of our car in the morning, just to run to class to see your friends; and you’ll get annoyed at your daddy and I when we mispronounce their names wrong. When you come home you’ll pull out paintings, books and projects from your bookbag anticipating just how much I’ll love them. I’ll hang everything up on the wall baby, you know I will.
You may be nervous now, but those easy days will come. Maybe not tomorrow, but soon.
Wyatt, the world awaits you, show it what you’re made of.