Baby Blues

Nick is in his second week of preschool, and so far, he's doing okay. He has his moments in the car of "No, I want to stay home with Mommy", but in general, he likes it just fine. It's only day four, and what began with him in pressed collared shirts and crisp jeans has transitioned into sweat pants and tee shirts (that I put him in the night before to save time). We're in the car by 8:15, always on time, I have juice waiting for him when he gets out, and life is moving along as predictably as Brittany Spears divorce in two years.

I know preschool is supposed to foster independence in our kids, but I'm surprised to find that it's me who needs to foster some. It's only 3 hours, two days a week, but when I drop him off, I literally think "Huh.... Now what?" It's ridiculous. There's so much I can do. I can thrift. I can exercise. I can write. I can take Sophie to the park. I can ebay or visit with a girlfriend. And yes, I've done most of those things. But in my chest is this heaviness... My baby is not with me. He's going to start telling me things that I don't understand from friends I have not met. And yes, this is normal. And I am so happy for him. But this is also the little man I rocked to sleep every night in my arms and loved (and still do) so much my heart bursts open. And I know it's cheesy, and I know everyone feels their baby is the most special child in the universe, but mine really is the best (pass it on). And when old people come up to me in super markets and say "Enjoy this time, it goes so fast" I have the unlucky fortune of believing them. So I try and treasure every moment. And yeah, there's days (just look at my blog) where I just want to be alone. In a deli. With a vat of Diet Coke and my solitude. But 99.9% of the time, I am keenly aware that these munchkins are the best thing that's ever happened to me and if I could freeze all the hugs and kisses and dorky mommy moments for when I'm old and grey, I would.

For moments like these when I need a good cry, I'm grateful for James. He usually will hug me and says out loud "It's going to be okay, Love". Then he'll add to himself "Thank GOD I had that vasectomy."

(* Pictured: Nick on his first day of preschool Sept. 6th. Our red door compliments of James' paint job a few weeks back. I give him credit - he's not a color guy. But he trusts me on these matters. Of course, we sometimes end up with orange bathrooms and day glo living rooms, but most times, my experiment is a success)