Today is one of those days I try to do a bunch of work while B watches me. And occasionally moans. And occasionally kdl4ojdlthf llthfoyht;pyl7titit6 hijacks my laptop. These are the days I’m supposed to be appreciating. We have ysir8lf[;uyg890pufo9d76u7y9oik7j four months to go before the start of kindergarten. Four months aftokerp after five years of mostly constant togetherness. I’ve never run a marathon before, but I imagi ne th i s is w ha t the s e co ndt o l as t m il e fe el s li k e. Like it will never, ever end. Like your legs will burn at this painful rate for the rest of your life. Like there is no finish line. Or like the finish line is way far away, in Siberia, or Tibet.
I love my kid, but it’s time for him to go away. I don’t understand the parents who look at me with their heads tilted and eyes wide and murmur, “It’s bittersweet, isn’t it, the start of kindergarten…” I get the sweet part, but bitter? That my life will be more my own? That I will be able to go to doctors appointments, haircuts, the mechanic, all by myself? That I will be free to schedule office hours almost whenever I need to? That I will save about $800 a month on childcare? Oh, no. I taste no bitterness here.
I know – these well-meaning moms are referring to how I am an inch closer to an empty nest. Maybe they are hinting at my own mortality. But right now, this is not my vision. Butterflies and lattes, that’s what I see.
“What’s 29 a hundred plus 29 hundred? And watch me do this. This is really easy because I’m strong. Can I invite Alexander over? Can you do this? [Smashes fist into couch] Look how big my muscles are, they’re right here. Now for this one. This is really easy, you just have to hang there for ten seconds. There. Ten seconds. That one I really like.”
You might picture me in a white painted room with a window in every wall, a room subjected to the rein of silence and careful thought, but no. I write this blog post with the above running commentary filling my ears. Every few minutes he requires a nod, or a “Wow.” Every few minutes I have to lift my eyes and brain from this post and accommodate his admittedly meager needs. He is a darling. Perhaps next year at this time I will be sitting in this same spot missing his idle chatter and poking reminders of his existence because he will be far away at kindergarten. Maybe. Well, no, not likely.