Andrew started preschool last week. He goes two mornings a week. He loves it. The first day, Hubby and I brought him and before we even got to the gate, he turned back, waved and said, "Bye-bye Mommy, bye-bye Daddy!!" I guess he was ready.
I was OK. Then, in the car about half a mile down the road, I had a good cry. Preschool today, college tomorrow. That's how it goes, right?
Last week was all about adjusting to this new routine. It threw me for a loop. (I didn't even get to my blog posts.) I went to farmer's market by myself and it was so easy, but it also felt a little empty without all thirty-five pounds of Andrew on my hip. I have been looking forward to having some regular time to myself-- you know, for grocery shopping, classroom volunteering, doctor appointments, car maintenance, oh, and exercise--for so long, yet feeling quite conflicted about it, as well, because it means my little ones aren't so little any more.
I can imagine, years from now, decades even, looking at Andrew's first preschool artwork (above), and remembering.