The time has come.

The time is now.

And I’m about to lose it in the form of teardrops sliding down both of my cheeks.

My third child, my last child, is starting elementary school.

My five year old, who, thanks to the pandemic, was pulled out of her brick and mortar preschool in March of 2020, finished her prekindergarten instruction with 12 months of online learning.

And she killed it.

Like, legit, became a Zoom maverick, and learned to read and do math at an advanced Kindergarten plus level, all thanks to her dang awesomesauce self and some fabulous educators.

And now she gets to go back in the classroom.
Masked up - not per requirement, but per my wishes.

And filled up - with encouragement that this nervous-making experience is meant for her and her for it and that it’s gonna be amazing.

When your kid goes to school for the first time or the last time,

when they leave for college or move away,

when they start a job or start a family,

when they walk away from you towards something (or someone) else,

it’s easy to be fearful.

To worry about how things will go for them.

To worry about how things will go for you without them.

When all you’ve ever known is how to love them it’s a straight-up challenge to let them go — and grow.

And grow they will, and so will you.

So hold tight, mamas, to your babies, of course, when you can, but when you can’t, clench to the belief that you’ve done plenty enough right and that the human you brought into this world is walking proof of such.