It seems to be a common question to ask a parent how they are handling this. I've done this myself. How are you coping? I would ask. Can you believe it? I suppose it's because it is a rite of passage, albeit a manufactured one. There's nothing innately transformative about the exact age a child graduates from preschool. Braden will still be the same kid next week that he is this week. He'll still love on his brothers, raid our snack cabinet, throw the odd tantrum here and there about absolutely nothing, and cry when we try to brush his hair. He's still our same little boy.
I've tried not to get all emotional about it.
I've tried not to get all emotional about it.
But I can't deny it. Between the "graduation" ceremony last week, the pictures sent home from school, and the slideshow the teachers made of all the kids (which yes, did make me cry), I can't help but take it as an opportunity, or maybe a mandate, to reflect.
Our little boy isn't so little anymore.
It's subtle things that drive this home for me. The size of his feet, for example. Sometimes I'll look at his feet, and think, My God, what happened? It's not that they are particularly big. It's just that they look like kid feet. The baby feet - that cute little padding on the bottom, and the chubby little toes - are gone.
Our conversations have gotten progressively more complicated - moving from the simple, toddler concepts, to the difficult ones. When I told him the other day that my grandmother is in her nineties his response was Oh man, she's going to die soon. He has started asking not only about death, but about religion. Illness. Even race, but in the most amazingly innocent way. (What color is that girl's skin, mommy? It's not blonde like mine.). About marriage and how most boys marry girls but some boys marry boys, and how that's okay. About divorce (or "breaking up," as he calls it), and about how it must have been sad for mommy that when she was little that her mommy and daddy lived in different houses.









