I was not prepared.
I bought all of the supplies.
Attended the meet-and-greet.
Packed their backpacks.
Reviewed shoe-tying.
Charged the camera battery.
Woke up extra early.
But I was not prepared.
On that first day
when I had done it all
checked it all off the lists
made sure we were all ready
I was not prepared.
I was not prepared for the pain
of the realization
that I was leaving my littlest one
alone
for the first time
ever
in a school
without his brother.
I was not prepared for the onslaught
of memories brought upon
by a moment captured on film:
a big brother helping a little brother
find his cubby
tuck his lunchbox
begin his day
exactly as he, himself, had done once
on his first day at the same little school.
With it came the sudden awareness
of the passing of time
the acknowledgement, for the first time,
that it is true
what they say:
they grow up too fast.
I was not prepared for the look of panic
fleeting and barely noticeable
but definitely there
in that second
just as we left.
I was not prepared for the sobs that choked me
shocked me
the whole way from one school to the next
where it started all over:
more shock, more tears
all my own.
I was not prepared for the swell of pride
unexplainable, almost.
After all, I had never been one of Those Mothers
and really, it was "just kindergarten"
and certainly, yes, a day of note, but of pride?
Pride.
Absolute.
Overwhelming.
Smothering.
I was not prepared for this feeling
that I was a mother
more than ever before
in that insignificant moment:
a nametag found and pinned
a bookbag draped over a chair
a boy
my boy
sitting
finding his seat
in kindergarten.
