But right now I need to wax sentimental. Because my baby boy is a big boy. My sweet, chubby, lovey dovey, cuddley, singing, dancing, sweatheart of a mama's boy somehow grew up, despite my repeated demands that he return to age 3. Nope. He's a Kindergartener now. Triator!
We just moved, if you didn't know. Everything in our lives is new--new house, new friends, new church, new school. And Beck could not wait for his new school, to go to REAL school with the big kids. To get homework like the big kids. To go every single day like the big kids. I tried to tell him that being big is overrated. He wasn't buying it.
I didn't think him going to school would hit me so hard, because as I walked him out to the bus stop on his first day, I wasn't emotional at all. We sat and waited for about 20 minutes because the bus was SUPER late (and because I couldn't keep him in the house another minute when he knew it was 10 minutes until the bus.) So we skipped rocks from the neighbor's landscaping in to a mud puddle by the road. We climbed the tree across the street. We reviewed instructions for exiting the bus at school and finding the right classroom (because Beck is REALLY into instructions and rules, and going over them is one of his favorite things to do. No, I'm not joking. He loves it!) We watched three different (wrong) buses go by and jumped excitedly each time. Finally THE bus came. Beck ran to the door and I could only barely stop him in the doorway in time to snap this shot by screaming WAAAAIT!
We had a Forest Gump moment when the skinny, tan, bleach-haired old lady driving the bus introduced herself (Tawna) and asked Beck's name and told him she'd be his driver to Kindergarten. And then they drove away. I couldn't see where Beck sat down. But I waved like crazy anyway in case he was looking. And then I stood there while the cars that had waited behind the bus began to move forward. And all three cars smiled at me and either waved or gave me the thumbs up. All women. All, undoubtedly, moms. I had just completed a rite of passage. And that's when I started to bawl. Right there on the pavement next to the bus stop, I cried like a baby that my baby boy was a big boy.