(I copied this post from my writing blog, so you may have already read it. But I'm posting it for myself because this blog also serves as my scrapbook and I want to have Lewis first day at school scrapbooked. At the end of each year, I upload my blog to blurb and make a book out of it. It's fantastic - a great quality "scrapbook" without having to cut or glue one piece of paper!)
Homemade cheesebread with marinara sauce.
“Oh no, what if Lewis can’t open his milk carton?”
Those were the first five words on the back-to-school lunch menu and that was
the thought that ran through my head sending a fresh waterfall of tears down my
face. Yes, I read the school lunch menu and cried. And cried. And cried.
Lewis is my baby. The one I have had to myself for the last four years. The
one who sings wonderful made-up songs, regularly makes us all laugh out loud and
likes to wear the same waaaay too small orange shirt e.v.e.r.y. day. The one who
wasn’t supposed to grow up.
What if he can’t open his milk carton? What if he gets lost in the sea of
kids? What if he gets hurt and wants his mommy? What if he gets frustrated and
wants to rock to calm himself but can’t because his rocking chair is too big to
put in his locker? There was no end to the (often irrational) thoughts that
filled my head as I prepared to send my little man off to begin his own life
adventures.
But I know deep down the reason I keep crying is not because Lewis might not
be able to handle school. It’s because I might not be able handle life without
Lewis.
For as long as I can remember, I’ve wanted to be a mom. Not a nurse, not a
teacher, not an engineer, not a chef, not an astronaut, but a mom.
And for the past 11 years of my life, being a mom has been my fulltime job. I
have done all the things every little girl dreams she will do as a mom. Feed
her babies, rock her babies, bathe her babies, stroll down the street with her
babies, read books to her babies and check on her babies every single night just
to watch that little chest move ever so slightly up and down.
Now I stand on the edge of a new reality for my life, and I can’t get the
picture to focus through the blur of these tear-stained eyes. My heart is
breaking because as my children grow, I am needed less. Of course, I want them
to grow up. I want them to become independent. I want them to tie their own
shoes and zip their own coats and open their own milk cartons. But with each new
little thing they accomplish on their own, one more thing gets crossed of my
list of responsibilities. As my list shrinks, the fist I have tightly clenched
around my dream job description is getting painfully pried open finger by
finger.
But I know to love is to hurt. And I know love is worth it. Every tear, every
breath that gets caught in my throat, every bit of puffiness under my tired
eyes. Worth it.
To be honest, I’m scared to step into the next chapter. I don’t know what
it’s going to look like, but hanging out in the white space between chapters in
not an option, so here I go. If Lewis can master his milk carton, surely I can
convince my fingers to turn the page.
I said to the man who stood at the gate of
the year, “Give me a light that I might tread safely into the unknown.” And he
replied, “Go out into the darkness and put your hand in the hand
