Well, it appears that kindergarten is the new tenth grade. My son has only just begun his formative school years, and yet already he does his best to squirm out of the car and past me without a hug.
His school is small and the kindergarten students begin at a separate time from the other grades. Because of this, parents can either walk their children to the classroom or drop them off at a designated spot (a teacher is there to then take them to the classroom, which is only a few feet away). By the second week of school, my son was requesting to be dropped off. “I’m a big kid now, Mom,” (when did he start calling me “Mom” instead of “Mommy?”) he told me matter-of-factly. “I’m not a baby anymore.”
“Oh yes you are,” I wanted to say. But instead, knowing dropping him off would cause no harm to him or me (except emotionally, of course) I started dropping him off in the morning. Soon after, he started squirming away from my hugs.
“Oh no you don’t,” I told him. “The other parents hug their kids, too, Bailey,” I reasoned. Then I hugged him as long as he’d let me and whispered in his ear that I loved him and to have a good day. Then I got in my car, drove home, and realized that this whole growing up “thing” is a little like a sneak attack. Suddenly, before parents realize it, their sweet, young, little children turn into…big kids.
Thankfully, my son still refers to me as “Mommy” most of the time. Thankfully, he still wants to sit on my lap and hug me at home. Thankfully, “I love you” is a frequent word at our house by everyone. Still, when your five-year-old is “too cool” for Mom, it hurts.
I know this is but the first of many things yet to come. I still remember my first day of high school when my twin sister and I made our mom drop us off around the corner. I see now how that must’ve both hurt and amused her at the same time. And I know he’ll realize this too when he grows up and has his own children.
Watching my son walk away from me to his school, where his own day begins, complete with his own friends, his own experiences, joys and sadness, makes me proud to be his mom. I know he’s prepared for this and that he is adapting well. And yes, I’ll indulge him—I’ll drop him off rather than walking him to his class. I’ll forgo the hugs at school if he prefers. I’ll even resist yelling, “I love you” when the others can hear me. As long as he knows he is loved that is what matters. And as long as I can still chase him down to hug him at home, I’ll be okay too. J