I don’t think I’ve let myself really think about preschool yet.
Every time someone asks if I’m excited, I smile and say, “I am.”
Because I am.
I know he’s going to love it.
He’s going to make friends, learn new things, come home with stories I wasn’t there to witness, and probably surprise me with just how ready he really is.
But if I’m honest…
I’ve been avoiding what this season actually means.
For four and a half years, we’ve built a life together.
Not a perfect one.
Just ours.
Slow mornings where breakfast somehow takes an hour because we’re talking about planes.
Errands that turn into adventures because he insists on pushing the shopping cart.
The homeschooling.
Library trips.
Park days.
Movie afternoons curled up on the couch.
The little routines that no one else would notice, but somehow became the rhythm of our lives.
When you’re a stay-at-home mom, motherhood isn’t just part of your day.
It is your day.
My days have always been measured by his.
Is he hungry?
Does he want to paint today?
Should we bake banana bread?
Is it already quiet time?
I’ve spent years pouring myself into these ordinary moments because I knew they wouldn’t stay ordinary forever.
And now…
They won’t.
Now there will be hours where I won’t know exactly what he’s doing.
He’ll be making memories that don’t include me.
Meeting friends.
Learning new things.
Growing into someone outside of the little world we’ve created together.
And for the first time in four and a half years…
I won’t know what I’ll be doing either.
That feels strange to admit.
I’ve dreamed about having more time.
Time to write.
To create.
To work on this little corner of the internet I’ve slowly been building.
To drink my iced coffee before it gets watery.
To walk through Target without stopping to admire every toy aisle.
To hear my own thoughts.
But now that it’s here…
I’m realizing I don’t really know who I’ll be during those quiet hours.
For years, someone has needed me every few minutes.
“Mommy, come look.”
“Mommy, watch this.”
“Mommy, can you help me?”
The house is quiet now.
Quieter than it’s ever been.
And I have a feeling the silence will feel a little louder than I expect.
Maybe I’ll finally write all the stories I’ve been carrying around in my heart.
Maybe I’ll decorate the house for the season without tiny hands “helping.”
Maybe I’ll fold laundry in one sitting.
Maybe I’ll sit on the couch and cry for ten minutes before I do any of those things.
Maybe this season isn’t about finding something to fill the silence.
Maybe it’s about remembering the parts of myself that have been patiently waiting while I poured so much love into raising him.
Because here’s the thing no one really tells you…
When your child starts preschool, you’re both beginning something new.
He’s learning who he is without me beside him.
And I’m learning who I am during the hours he doesn’t need me.
That realization hit me harder than I expected.
So I ordered something small.
Nothing extravagant.
Just a little photo keychain to keep on his backpack.
Inside are pictures of us.
A tiny reminder that no matter where he is, home is never very far away.
Maybe he’ll never even open it up.
Maybe he’ll completely forget it’s there.
But I’ll know.
I’ll know that a little piece of me went with him.
Because if I’m being completely honest…
I think the keychain is just as much for me as it is for him.
Maybe even more.
Motherhood is full of these invisible goodbyes.
The last bedtime rocking.
The last time they ask to be carried.
The last time they reach for your hand without thinking.
You never know they’re the last until they’ve already passed.
And somehow one ordinary morning became the first day I watched my baby walk into a classroom with a backpack that suddenly looked much too big on his little shoulders.
But he wasn't scared.
He didn't cry.
He didn't hesitate.
He just stepped into his new world so proudly.
And I held it together.
I smiled.
I watched him walk in.
And then I made it back to the car before finally letting all my tears out.
Not because he was afraid.
He wasn't.
Not because he wasn't ready.
He was.
I think I just needed a moment to let myself feel everything that this day meant.
I know preschool is only the beginning.
There will be elementary school.
Middle school.
High school.
College.
One day he’ll build a life that’s beautifully full of people, places, and memories that exist beyond me.
That’s exactly what I’ve always wanted for him.
But wanting something for your child doesn’t make it any easier when the day actually arrives.
So if you see me crying in the preschool parking lot…
Just know it isn’t because I don’t want him to grow.
It’s because being his mom has been the greatest privilege of my life.
And sometimes loving someone so deeply means learning to let them grow—
One small step at a time.
♡
If You’re Packing Your Little One’s Backpack Too…
If you’re anything like me, maybe you want to send a tiny piece of home along with them.
Here are a few sweet ideas that don’t take up much space but can mean so much:
A tiny photo keychain with family pictures tucked inside.
A laminated family photo slipped into a backpack pocket.
A little fabric heart or wooden heart that fits in their pocket. You keep one too, so whenever they hold theirs, you can hold yours.
A simple lunchbox note with a doodled heart, a joke, or “I can’t wait to hear about your day.”
A girls' matching bracelet | boys' matching bracelet if their school allows it.
A tiny “worry stone” they can rub when they’re missing you.
A secret ritual before drop-off—a special handshake, three squeezes that mean “I love you,” or a kiss pressed into the palm of their hand for them to “keep” until they need it.
The truth is, he may never need any of these things.
He might run into the classroom without looking back.
And if he does…
That’s okay too.
Because sometimes these little keepsakes aren’t just for them.
Sometimes they’re for us.
A quiet reminder that even when our children begin building a world beyond our arms…
They’ll always carry a little piece of home with them.
And maybe, just maybe…
We’ll learn how to carry this new season too.
Everything I Packed for His First Day
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