I sit here early Sunday morning -- the last Sunday morning before Jenna starts pre-K, and the last Sunday morning before our world takes a different turn -- and reflect.
For three years, I've stayed home with my daughter. For three years, I've driven her from one playdate to another; to museums, zoos, pools, gymnastics, soccer practice. We've gone on picnics, taken countless walks, taken trips to California, Florida and Texas.
Just me and my girl.
She's been by my side through doctors appointments, at the DMV, the grocery store, post office, countless retail stores, freelance writing jobs. We have fought, laughed, giggled until our sides hurt. We have cried together.
Jenna heads off to pre-K on Wednesday, and I head off to full-time work in a week. We will go our separate ways, after being joined at the hip for three years. While I look forward to adult interaction and working at a job that holds my passion, I will miss that 4-foot wonder at my side.
I won't miss the constant, "Mommy, mommy, mommy, mommy ... " or the, "Who is that? Who is that? Who is that?" while on the phone. And I won't miss being interrupted at every meal with a child who wants to climb on my lap and acts bewildered that I don't want her hanging on me every second of the day.
But I will miss the hand-holding, the sweetness of her face, and the daily, and numerous, times I hear, "I love you." I will miss the excitement in her eyes when she meets a new friend or when I surprise her with a trip to Libby Lou's or the carousal. Heck, even a non-surprise trip to the local park.
I will miss the child who brushed my hair, and said, "You were not beautiful before, but now you are."
I will miss the child who, before age 2, understood I was on my death bed while ill from food poisoning and virtually left me alone all day. What a blessing.
I will miss the child who pats my breasts and asks, "Are we at the boobie doctor?" while sitting at the Cancer Care Center.
I will miss the child who remains mum while meeting strangers, and two minutes later talks non-stop in the car.
I will miss the child who, when I first stayed home with her was only learning to walk, and who now is full of wonder. She, who has a grasp of heaven and those who live there -- my mom, brother, grandmother. Even the bird we hit and killed with our car. She, who knows cancer is something that can take a life away.
She, who asks other ways people die.
I will miss the child who dresses our dogs in shirts, tiaras and scarves.
I will miss this child of mine, who will grow and prosper under another woman's influence -- her teacher, who will broaden her mind and help her explore the world in a world of 4-year-olds.
It will be hard seeing her walk away from me Wednesday. Backpack on back, lunch bag in hand
The world, the possibilities, on her shoulders.
For three years, I've stayed home with my daughter. For three years, I've driven her from one playdate to another; to museums, zoos, pools, gymnastics, soccer practice. We've gone on picnics, taken countless walks, taken trips to California, Florida and Texas.
Just me and my girl.
She's been by my side through doctors appointments, at the DMV, the grocery store, post office, countless retail stores, freelance writing jobs. We have fought, laughed, giggled until our sides hurt. We have cried together.
Jenna heads off to pre-K on Wednesday, and I head off to full-time work in a week. We will go our separate ways, after being joined at the hip for three years. While I look forward to adult interaction and working at a job that holds my passion, I will miss that 4-foot wonder at my side.
I won't miss the constant, "Mommy, mommy, mommy, mommy ... " or the, "Who is that? Who is that? Who is that?" while on the phone. And I won't miss being interrupted at every meal with a child who wants to climb on my lap and acts bewildered that I don't want her hanging on me every second of the day.
But I will miss the hand-holding, the sweetness of her face, and the daily, and numerous, times I hear, "I love you." I will miss the excitement in her eyes when she meets a new friend or when I surprise her with a trip to Libby Lou's or the carousal. Heck, even a non-surprise trip to the local park.
I will miss the child who brushed my hair, and said, "You were not beautiful before, but now you are."
I will miss the child who, before age 2, understood I was on my death bed while ill from food poisoning and virtually left me alone all day. What a blessing.
I will miss the child who pats my breasts and asks, "Are we at the boobie doctor?" while sitting at the Cancer Care Center.
I will miss the child who remains mum while meeting strangers, and two minutes later talks non-stop in the car.
I will miss the child who, when I first stayed home with her was only learning to walk, and who now is full of wonder. She, who has a grasp of heaven and those who live there -- my mom, brother, grandmother. Even the bird we hit and killed with our car. She, who knows cancer is something that can take a life away.
She, who asks other ways people die.
I will miss the child who dresses our dogs in shirts, tiaras and scarves.
I will miss this child of mine, who will grow and prosper under another woman's influence -- her teacher, who will broaden her mind and help her explore the world in a world of 4-year-olds.
It will be hard seeing her walk away from me Wednesday. Backpack on back, lunch bag in hand
The world, the possibilities, on her shoulders.
1 comment:
Why do you do this to me? That is too sweet. You have the best of both worlds now, Kym. You can go work and then come home to do many of those things with Jenna. Good luck with the transition.
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