I started this blog five years ago on the eve of our baby’s first birthday. Seemed like a good way to kill two birds- document our family events and scratch a creative itch. I remember the butterflies fluttering in my stomach before I hit the submit button.

The last five years I’ve posted more than 100 posts, many about that baby. Our Thad Bo Bad, nickname given after singing the Name Game song to him as a little guy. On repeat. Tonight the butterflies are once again present as I write to say:

My baby is starting kindergarten and I have not adequately prepared.

People, help me! I am speechless. Or, as I sit with my trusty keyboard, perhaps I should say wordless. Well, maybe not quite wordless but unable to quite wrap my head around what I’m feeling. It has been 13 years of babies and cutting up food and diapers and zoo trips and playdates and floaties and training wheels and preschool and tiny shoes and little people and while I should have readied myself for this moment, I have not.

Procrastination, thy name is Emily.

Instead of steadiness and preparedness, I found myself unsure what to do as I watched my ‘baby’ walk through his new classroom today. With his shaggy blonde mop recently trimmed to an undeniably ‘big guy’ cut, he seemed so intentional as he helped me unload his school supplies into his locker.

2020 has been fraught with moments for which we simply have not been able to prepare. In April, in an effort to avoid daily panic, I chose an apathetic approach, pretty uncommon for me. I tried to roll with the punches and avoid getting worked up about things I could not control. Some might call it self-numbing, but whatever. The goal was to remain calm and not overanalyze or hyperprepare. However, I think I overshot the runway a bit because I am T-36 hours from putting this child on the big yellow bus and I cannot imagine doing so. I cannot visualize actually watching him walk up those stairs.

Yes, I am aware I’m not sending him into combat. Yes, I realize he will only be gone for seven hours each day. Yes, I remember ‘Business School Emily’ who said she would never, ever, not-in-a-million-years want to be a stay at home mom. Shut up, Business School Emily and go study for your Statistics class. You don’t know anything.

Who on earth is going to shop with me at Aldi and discuss why our family eats so much cheese each week? Who is going to fill me in on what Kids’ Yoga was like? Or sing the Number of the Day song on Sesame Street? Or ask to see the hippo at the local zoo for the zillionth time?

Who is going to play Old Maid or Uno or Memory, beating me handily and then consoling with an “It’s okay, Mom.” Who is going to drive me to the brink of sanity by pretending he doesn’t understand my question in order to avoid answering? Repeating, “Ummmmm, yeah, I don’t quite get what you’re saying. Could you ask me one more time?” Who is going to busy himself folding dish towels while I take on the mounds of other clean laundry?

Some people launch themselves into the next phase with glee and reckless abandon. I am not these people. I like to leave a phase dragging myself, scraping every joyful bit until I’ve so wrung out the goodness I’m already ankle deep into the next season. Healthy? Likely not. But we all have our stuff.

The baby. My baby.

He is six, registration held off for kindergarten one more year because I adored his solo company. He is so ready to not be my shopping sidekick, my YMCA buddy and my shadow. He is ready to learn and experience and explore. I, however, am not as ready.

I overshot the kindergarten runway.

Some consolation was to be had today when I asked what he is most looking forward to in school.

Lou. Seeing Lou. Seeing her in the hallway. Maybe at recess.

Louise, his big sis, will be just down the hall. When I made the decision to stay home four years ago, it was just Louise and Thad with me in the day-in and day-out. I’m thankful they can continue to be together each day.

While mom sobs alone in her coffee.

Maybe gently weeps is more accurate.

Cries softly?

Regardless of how I choose to pour out my emotions over my cup of joe, Thad remains ready to start school. As I send him out, amid mask regulations and social distancing, there is comfort in knowing he has an equally blonde third grader to lock eyes and sneak a hug with when time allows.