Letter to My Big Girl Preschooler

Dear Audrey,

Tomorrow you start preschool.  It's a wonderful little program at a church about ten minutes from our house.  Your teachers, Mrs. Lindsy and Mrs. Caroline, are just as nice as they can be (and their voices sound as sweet as strawberries, you told me.)  You're going to crush them academically and gain so much socially.  You'll meet new friends, get to practice following directions, and interact with others.  You'll learn about God's Word and study Bible heroes.  Each day you'll have music class and play on the playground.  Sharing, creating, playing, growing...  Not to mention your little brother Luke will get to have some of my undivided attention like you got when you were a baby.  It's only going to be from 9:30-1:30 on Tuesdays and Thursdays.

It's a good decision.  It's the right thing for you AND me.

But, nonetheless, my heart still hurts.

I feel like it's the end of the beginning.  I realize that sounds so dramatic (as if there was any doubt who you get that from).  You see, I know you aren't mine.  Not really.  God gives us children for just a short time, but they don't really belong to us.  They're kind of on loan for parents to take care of, raise, and shape into adults.  But this is really the first situation that drives that home for me.  With very little exception, you have been in my care 24/7/365 since June 20, 2009.  Technically since October 1, 2008. And now, for 8 hours a week, you are going to be someone else's responsibility.

I laid awake last night and worried to death about it all.  I worried whether I should pick different shoes for your outfit in case the first choice hurt your feet.  I worried that you would be scared of the bigger kids on the playground.  I worried that they would forget to ask you if you needed to go potty and you would have an accident and be embarrassed.  I worried you wouldn't speak up if some other kid was being mean to you.  I worried your teachers wouldn't realize how smart, funny, and adorable you are. (You are, you know.)  I worried you would feel overwhelmed and lonely.  I worried about you washing your hands well, being able to open up your lunch box, and even tripping down the concrete stairs on the way to playground.  You name it...I worried about it.

I would do anything for you, Sugar.  I want to spare you from bullies, hard situations, and sad feelings like fear and loneliness.  If it were a perfect world, you'd never have to go through anything tough.  But it's not a perfect world and I realize I cannot protect you from experiencing that forever.  I have to think about the end goal:  you becoming independent.  I have to remember that, as our Pastor says, I'm not raising a child, I'm raising an adult.

So tomorrow marks a new step towards that goal.  I'll hold my breath and bite my lip and do whatever it takes to keep my tears from spilling over until you are safely out of sight.  Then I'll bawl and pray and bawl and pray all morning long for you.  And when I pick you up (I'll be the first in carpool line), I bet you'll look a little bit taller and a little bit older than when I dropped you off.  I know for sure we'll both be a little bit better for taking this step.

You are the light of my life and I can't wait to see you shine in this new way.

I love you,

Mommy
xoxoxoxo