To My Last Baby

When the doctor announced you were a boy and gently laid you on my chest I didn’t know at the time that you would be my last. When you wrapped your little hand around my finger and our eyes met for the first time I had no idea that it would be the last time I experienced a bond so new. When I brought you home and rocked you in the nursery I didn’t know at the time that you would be the last baby to make that nursery a home.  Looking back, I realize that just like the firsts were so very special with your brother, the lasts were just as special with you.

It’s ironic that when I first found out I was pregnant with you I was both excited and yet somehow still nervous.  I was so very afraid there just wouldn’t be enough of me to equally love you and your brother. Oh how wrong I was. The moment you were born I quickly figured out that I didn’t have to share my heart with you both, instead my heart grew bigger. It grew so big that I immediately knew having “enough love” was never going to be a problem of ours.

There of course came a point in time that I did in fact realize you were the last puzzle piece. You were the part of our family that was missing and with you our family became complete. Of course with that epiphany came the realization that you were the last baby. I want you to know that being the last baby comes with a great deal of responsibility and honor. You see your brother paved the way. He was our first, but you my love, you are our last. Your brother started our family and you completed it. The engine of the train leads the way, but without the caboose the train would be missing something. You are our caboose. 

In case you should ever start to doubt just how much you mean to me I want you to take this letter and keep it with you always.

My dearest caboose,

My love for you was big from day one and only grew bigger.  I wasn’t always good about writing down your milestones but each and every one of them is etched in my mind and they will remain there…always. The first time you called me mama, the first time you laughed, the first time you crawled, the first time you walked, and the very first time you ran and didn’t look back right away.

I remember the smell of your head. I remember the softness of your feet. That is love. Love holds onto these little moments. I remember your first day of preschool and in a blink there we were at your preschool graduation.

I remember putting you on the big school bus for the first time and knowing you were ready but doubting that I was. I wasn’t.  I remember comforting you when you were scared and sharing in your excitement when you hit your first baseball. I remember your joy of art projects and spending my days picking up scraps of paper remnants while my feet stuck to random pieces of tape. I remember knowing that I would surely miss them both.

I remember the way you passionately called every child in your class your friend before saying their name when you would tell me a story about them at the dinner table. I remember the way you looked up to your brother. I remember the way you just wanted to play with the big kids. I remember when you became the big kid. I thought I was ready. I wasn’t.

I remember the way you gave everything your all. I remember knowing you were always going to try your hardest, you were going to love big, and you were going to always be a giant light shining in the dark.

I remember the many times I smiled with pride and hid the tears as to not embarrass you, but they were there. They were always there.  With every step, every turn, every milestone you amaze me. You make my heart continue to grow.  One day I will be standing in a sea of parents watching our babies graduate from high school. I want you to know that the tears are my way of trying to let go of the baby who first wrapped his hand around my finger and the smile is my way of letting you know that it’s okay. It’s OK, because in letting go you somehow make my heart continue to grow.  In the end your brother is the engine and you are the caboose, but I am the engineer and once I get you both safely to where you are going my job is complete, which is ironic because my dear caboose you completed me.  

"and 

she loved

a 

little boy

very, very much

-even more

than

-she loved

herself."

Shel Silverstein The Giving Tree

A Bittersweet Goodbye To Preschool

Bittersweet. People use the word all the time but when you find yourself in a situation that fits the word, it is often more bitter than it is sweet. It’s often difficult to describe our emotions when we find ourselves in one of these “bittersweet” situations. More often than not it is because we are in uncharted territory. We are navigating waters we have yet to travel and it feels almost impossible to determine our exact feelings when we are having a difficult time getting our bearings. This is parenthood. The milestones we reach with our children are bittersweet. We want them to grow. We want them to change. We want them to succeed. Those are the sweet spots. It’s the letting go we are forced to do in the process that it is bitter. After all wasn’t it just yesterday that we held them for the first time and whispered in their tiny little ear how we had never loved anyone this much? Sure it was. To us it will always be yesterday.

My youngest is graduating from preschool and while that sounds like the smallest of the milestones to some, it is one of the biggest to me. You see preschool was a magical time for us. It was a time that he got to go out on his own without me for a little while, but was still right with me every step of the way. He left me to learn his letters, numbers and colors. He left me to play trucks with his friends. He left me to put puzzles together and have snack time with his pals. He left me to play dress up. He left me to make hand prints on paper and watch butterflies come to life. He left me skipping with a backpack that was way too big for him to find out which one of his new friends had brought in cupcakes for their birthday. He left me, but only for a short time. The moment I picked him up he told me all about every minute of his day. He told me all about story time. He told me all about that funny thing that Frankie’s brother did. He told me everything. Every. Single. Thing. I don’t know much, but I know enough to know it won’t always be this way. Preschool is a short two or three years but it means so much more than the time reflects. As we come to the end of this journey I realize it is not just an ending for him, it is one for me as well.

To the moms I met in preschool,

We might not have realized it at the time but we met each other at the sweet spot. We came together at a time of innocence. Our children knew each other before they knew anything about the big wide world that is awaiting them. Our children did not care about where any of us came from. They only cared about snack time and play time. They cared about who had a great story to share. They cared about the kid who was crying because he missed his mom. They cared about the child who was absent and wanted to know why and when they would return.

They didn’t care about what their friends were wearing to school. They cared about their friend who couldn’t have nuts and made sure to remind their mommy to bring a snack she could safely have. They didn’t care about what their parents drove to school. They cared about knowing who their mommy was and making sure they didn’t leave if she was running late to soccer. They didn’t care about what their last name stood for because they were just so proud to be able to recognize it at circle time. They embraced one another’s differences without having to point them out. They encouraged each other to be themselves. They were inclusive. They were the epitome of innocence. They never cared about status. They never cared about the exterior. All they ever cared about was each other.

The end of this time is bittersweet not only for us, but for them even though they don’t realize it now. They were able to enjoy a time of innocence with zero judgment. They were able to be who they are without anyone telling them they should change. They were confident. They were proud. They were kind. They were helpful. They were what we all wish on a daily basis we had the courage to be. They were true to themselves.

Ironically we got to experience that too. We were a group of moms thrown into a school without knowing each other, but because we had children who were judgment free, we too were able to remain that way. We were able to show up at pick up every day and talk to one another without issue. After all we have children who are not hurting each other emotionally or physically. We have children who set an example. We have children who have yet to be exposed to the hurt of the outside world. Here we thought we had popped the bubble by enrolling them in preschool only to realize we have been happily living inside one all along.  I want to tell you all that this is a time I will forever treasure. My son will grow and move on and he may from time to time mention a pal from preschool. I want you to know that when he does I will look back on those memories with nothing but fondness. I will look back at a time when we all held the innocence of their age. I will look back at the special days, soccer games, music classes and field trips and I will smile. I will remember my son just like this because of all of you. We have no way of knowing what the future holds for our children, but what we do know is that the past will hold a treasure of beautiful childhood memories.

The ironic part of our preschool experience is the realization that we can learn so much from them. If we were somehow able to bottle up the innocence and have it carry on through high school and adulthood it would be amazing. If we were able to show adults what is really means to act like a kind human being, our kids would be the example. Sure High School gets all the glory but Preschool is the place where innocence still lives. Preschool is where judgment doesn’t exist and love is a word thrown around with meaning. Our kids are graduating preschool but I hope they carry the lessons they learned there with them forever.

All my best,

Jen

Learning to swim on his own.