I am exhausted. I am spent. I realized today that your oldest kid starting preschool is the end of your carefree, making-plans-(mostly)-on-the-fly days. It is a transition for your family just like adding another child or one of the parents starting a new job. I thought I had till next week for this, but very last minute Luke had to be switched to a different class and had to start today. During a week when Ryan already had a lot of things planned, so even though I'm not, I kind of feel as though I'm dealing with it all on my own. I wasn't ready and now I feel all off-kilter. I really could have used those extra six days to prepare.
I'm days behind on email replies and responding to Facebook messages. I'm not even certain I remembered to pay all the bills. I just don't feel like doing anything I should be doing. I feel as though I don't have the mental space to focus on those things or, sadly, even other people. My mind is rebelling against the stress of a situation that should not stress me out at all. It's only preschool and it is only two days a week. But I just want to sit on the couch and snuggle with Luke and keep him little for a few more days.
Earlier tonight, I remembered something I wrote a long time ago. I think Luke was about two-and-a-half. Since my brain is on vacation, I'll post this for now. I absolutely cannot believe this was two years ago, because it really feels like yesterday.
"Look at all the birds, Mom!" I look up from filling the dishwasher to see that Luke has stopped riding his stick horse and is staring out the dining room window. I think of how cute his little voice is and, as is typical, when I don't respond immediately he repeats himself.
"Look at all the birds!" This time, he's pointing up out the window. I dry my hands and walk over next to him. Looking to where he is pointing, I see the birds flying overhead. "Look at all the birds, Mom. Where do you think they are going?" It's cute how he makes such an effort to express his two-year-old thoughts in complete sentences. Before I can answer, he says, "They are going to their nests." In his mind, there is nowhere else for them to go. All people and animals he sees going anywhere must be going home.
This is a seemingly endless flock of birds we are watching. He makes a few more comments about the birds, then says, "Let's count them, Mama. 1 - 2 - 3 - 4 - 9 - 10." He always leaves out 5-6-7-8. "Count them Mama." Of course, there are far too many and they are flying far too fast for me to count them. I get all sappy in my mushy mom brain, thinking how he is like a little bird, for now in my nest, but all too soon he will have to go out on his own. Away from me. I think of how these days of little moments like this are flying by faster than I can keep track of, just like the flock of birds. I wish I had my camcorder so I could capture this, but I know that, first of all, if I move to get it he will get distracted and just want to play with it. Second, I know that even if I did have it, there is really no way to capture exactly what is transpiring.
So I just stand there next to him while he talks about the birds and tries to count them. I glance down at him, standing by the window in his fire truck pajamas, blue eyes bright with wonder, finger pointing out the window. I want to hug him and kiss him and remind him I love him. I close my eyes and try to etch the scene onto my memory.
The flock has finally passed and he goes back to riding his horse. I stand by the window for just another second, thankful that a least for now my little bird is here with me and that I have a couple more years to get used to the idea of him flying on his own.