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The First of Lasts

The weeks have flown and I’ve tucked T in for the last time as pre-schooler. Okay, it’s not really the first time we’ve encountered a “last time.” But this is not like the last midnight feeding, the last diaper, the last time we used a stroller before graduating to riding on Daddy’s shoulders. This one stings with immeasurable intensity from which I’ve found no escape for months. It drags with it other lasts – various story times and sprout groups, Mommy and Me yoga, our routine of “projects” and planning our day over breakfast. There is a void that O can fill only partly, at least for now, since he’s still a bit young to partake in most of the activities that have crowded our calendar over the past few years.

My husband keeps reminding me that I was the wild one, the woman who traveled for a living and never wanted kids. I could not have known the joy I would get from going on “turkey hunts” and reading Pete the Cat with the sweet boy with light in his eyes. Maybe that’s why it hurts so much – in this case, T’s first comes with the excitement of a child gaining a new adventure, while my last showcases only what I’ve loved so much and have lost. Tomorrow seems both infinitely far and too soon to bear.

T.Backpack

“Fill Your Backpack” game courtesy of teachingheart.net (thank you!)

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