Carter is the reassuring type. Today, while making handprint art with paint on his second day of preschool, he told the hesitant 3-foot tall girl in front of him, “Don’t worry. It’s fun. You’ll be ok.”
In the car, he asked me what I’d be packing in for his daily snack — for the rest of the year.
“That will be fine.”
“Yep. That would also be fine. Just fine.”
“How about popcorn?”
“That’d be great.”
We keep going like this for a while (until he notes the absence of a personal favorite, peanut-butter-anything — and then we have an in-depth conversation about allergies). Olives, cheese sticks, graham crackers, apples and raisins check out. Celery not so much.
At the restaurant with Grammie, he dumps his crayons out of the cup and lines them up. The occasional gentleman, he lets Grams choose first. “Which color would you like?” She chooses blue. “Exxss…exxs…excellent choice.”
It’s dawning on me just how much of an only-child Carter Patrick has grown to be; he’s a mini-adult. I think about this, pretty much every day, and I alternate between worry and excitement. The flutters and kicks in my disproportional abdomen are hearty reminders that the Carter-only days are numbered. That’s a great thing, and a big change thing, all on its own.
So, preschool. The winds of fate put CP in The Owl Classroom, which you know just tickles me hot pink. Carter’s first days have been piece-of-cake, he’s-got-this, you-can-go-now-Mom easy. It’s heartbreaking.
Backpack, snack box, and water bottle in tow, Bird took his first week by storm. Two years til kindergarten. It’ll be fine, right? Just fine.