My Son Starts Middle School Tomorrow

I'm not ready for this. Not yet. 

I swear it was just yesterday that he was small, inhabiting a world of stuffies, dinosaurs and superheroes. I could heal boo-boos and banish scary dreams with a snuggle and the “milkies.” It was so easy to set right the things that hurt and scared him. And the skills he was learning every day – from memorizing the alphabet, to sharing, to dressing himself, to riding a tricycle – were all safely within my wheelhouse. I was confident in my ability to guide him on every one. 

Now he’ll encounter tasks, situations, and peer interactions that I won’t always be able to help with or even understand. I know it’s my job to let him move into those things on his own, finding independence, while I stay nearby, watching for signs of trouble and providing a safe harbor for when the storms are too much. And I’ll do that, gladly. I’ll stand steadfast as a lighthouse and shine so bright, and so far, that he will always know where home is, where safety and love are found no matter what. 

I know this is the way it’s supposed to be. I know I can already be proud of the teen and man he will become, and of the job I’m doing. I know it’s all part of growing up. 

But I also know this: while I’m standing here shining brightly, full of pride and excitement for him, my heart will break a little more each time he moves further away from me. And I will miss that little boy – the stuffy-loving superhero – the rest of my days.