But six years ago, I was being laid off for the second time in as many years, and I was 23 weeks pregnant with my third child. I felt as if the universe was trying to tell me something. It seemed the universe was saying that home with my girls was exactly where I needed to be.
So six years ago, I embraced being home with three girls under 5 (and I will never forget the complete panic that consumed me when my husband left for a business trip three weeks after I gave birth to our youngest. He was only gone four days but it seemed a lot more like eternity then!). I joined playgroups and made mommy friends and scoped out every single kids activity west of the Mississippi to fill my days with my girls while my husband did the 9-to-5 thing.
And I fell in love with being with my girls.
Not that it was easy. I think that was the first thing that hit me like a wrecking ball in those early days of being home. When I was a working mom, I'd guiltily drop my girls at daycare and wonder what it must be like to simply get to hang out with my kids all day. To not have to go anywhere or do anything or answer to anyone. As a working mom, it seemed like the dream.
Man oh man, did those years of being home fly by, much like everyone warned me they would.
And now, days before I'm about to send my darling youngest girl off to kindergarten, I'm left to wonder when I entered this season of life. Somehow, I'm no longer the mom of little kids. It' happened both so quickly I didn't have time to notice and so slowly I didn't think it would ever happen. My household has long since been free from pacifiers and bottles and diapers and nap times. Last year, I stopped shopping in the toddler section at any given store. This summer, we gave up puddle jumpers at the pool. And I both mourned and celebrated each of these small stepping stones as they became obsolete to my family.
But nothing, nothing, has hit me as hard as preparing to send my youngest to kindergarten.
The first emotion I feel is guilt. Guilt because, for the past few weeks, I've been telling my youngest I'm simply not going to allow her to go to school. She's ready, you see. And she has been for more than a year now. She has been up at her big sisters' school for all the events and activities. She knows the halls and some of the teachers. She knows her sisters' friends. She is already feeling like a big woman on campus and she hasn't even arrived. She has looked forward to joining her sisters at school for a while now.
So the guilt comes. The guilt comes because, for the past couple of years, I've tried to ease my way back into working. I've done contracting jobs here and writing jobs there. She's gone to preschool a couple of days of week, but it never felt like enough. It wasn't enough time to get the house clean or finish the project I was working on or finally purge my closet (like I've been promising my husband for ages!). There were so many days when I would stick her in front of the TV or the iPad and attempt to finish whatever "super important" project I was working on. I wanted her to be at school like her sisters were so I could accomplish more during the day. There were days when I just needed her to be... not home with me.
The guilt comes because her big sisters notice me telling my youngest she can't go to school and they say "You never said that to me." And they are right. They are right because, with my oldest, I was so excited for school. It was the beginning of a new chapter, a new adventure. A new family, a new village, to be a part of. I was sad that she'd be gone from me for eight hours a day but I was so excited for all the doors it was opening that I didn't mind. And for my middle daughter, it was a mix of exciting and sad. Exciting because she, too, was going off to school to make new friends and be a part of the village my oldest was a part of. Sad because I knew. I knew that sending her off to kinder was one step closer to the end of my "little kid" days. Middle kids hit the sweet spot because it's easier to just enjoy the ride. You don't get the constant worry you did with the first. The fear of "Am I doing this right?" And you don't get the sadness you do with the last. The heaviness of "This my be her first time, but this is my last first time." You can just enjoy the ride.
But my youngest... Where do I start? She has been with me since her first day of life. I never worked, at least not full-time, once she came into the world. I never had to tear up because I was dropping her at daycare. She has been by my side all these years. She has accompanied me out of state for a wedding and two funerals. She has slept in my bed, as close to me as humanly possible, for so many years that I don't honestly think she knows where her bed even is. Each and every day after we dropped sisters at school she would turn to me and excitedly ask what our plans were for the day. She came to crave the Mommy and Me Days as much as I did, and, on days when I felt I didn't have "time" for a Mommy and Me Day, I would feel guilty about disappointing her.
She will turn six in October, and, I know it sounds cliche, but I don't know where these years have gone. Five years ago, when friends with older kids would tell me I'd miss these days once they'd gone, I would literally laugh. Nope, I would think, not me. I won't miss the diapers and the nursing and the sippy cups and the cranky kids who didn't nap.
But I do. I miss them already.
I'm excited for my youngest to go off to school because the excitement she feels is palpable. She picked out her backpack from Justice and packed it full of "necessities" as dictated by her sisters just last night. She's put lots of thought into her first-day outfit and memorized the names of her sisters' kindergarten teachers in hopes that she will end up with one of them. She has the shoes picked out that she will wear for PE and talked about which friends she hopes she has in class.
But for me, the last first day of kindergarten is the end of an era. No longer will I need to scour Facebook to look for fun activities to fill our Wednesdays or ask friends if they mind watching her for the day so I can get my hair done or work on a project or do whatever oh-so-important things I've had to do all these years. No longer will I need to stick her in front of the iPad so I can finish up some work or ask my dad to watch her so I can go for a run. She will be in school eight hours a day, and it will feel like an eternity.
I suppose, after the first few weeks of school, we will settle into a pattern. We will figure out our routine and make it work for us. But those first few days, I know I'll have a hard time. A hard time admitting that the season of my life where I'm at home with my littles has passed. That Wednesday playdates are out of the question except for in summer. That I can go back to work without worrying about where to send my kiddos. Suddenly I'm going to have 40 kid-free hours per week. Three years ago, I would've lived for that kind of freedom. Right now, I'd give anything to rewind three years and savor those moments again.
Parenting is hard. And I know the easy years, the ones that felt impossible when I was knee-deep in them, are behind me. I will no longer worry about whether my 4-month-old is eating enough or if my 3-year-old is napping enough. Now I have to worry if I'm allowing my kids too much screen time or if they are being bullied at school. Now I have to worry about social media and smartphones (although we aren't quite there- yet).
For now, I suppose, I'll have to put on my brave face when I walk my final baby into her classroom for that last first day. I'll hide my tears when I let go of her hand and probably be the one crying to loudest at the school's Boo Hoo Breakfast. I'll count down the hours until all three girls return from school and try to be grateful for all the years I got to be home with them full time.
And then I'll start counting down the days until Summer Break.
