Is it ever going to get easier?
Last year when the kid started kindergarten, I was prepared for the tears that I knew would come as I drove out of sight. Not Ainsley's, of course, but my own.
I wasn't prepared for the way I would feel when I dropped her off this morning, her first day of first grade. It's the same school as last year. I've met the teacher. All her friends will be there (except, I think, for her beloved Teddy, whose name I did not see on the class roster this morning). It shouldn't have been hard.
I made it all the way to the Kroger about a block away from her school, where I had to stop to get food for a new teacher library orientation I did this morning, before I felt the lump in my throat and felt the tears well in my eyes. I had to sit in the car for a few minutes and recover. What the hell is the matter with me?
I've thought about her so much already this morning. I don't worry about her; Ainsley was more than happy to see me go and did not need my help getting to her classroom and getting unpacked. I worry about me. With every passing year, I know she's going to need me less and less. She will grow less inclined to let me hug her goodbye. She won't need me to help her into her uniform, to pull her hair back into her favorite ponytail, to pack her lunch. On the one hand, this is good. She needs to be more independent. I need that extra little bit of time in the morning. On the other hand...well, there goes my baby, the only one I'll ever have.
I feel so...blue today. Blurg.