And preschool begins.

My sweet Camden Miller,

Tomorrow, you start preschool. And tonight, I sit here feeling so many different things: happy, apprehensive, nostalgic-- you name it, I've probably felt it at some point while thinking about your big day tomorrow. By the time you're old enough to read this letter, you'll probably roll your eyes and think Geez, Mom. It was just preschool! But, oh- it's so much more than that.

Tomorrow is the beginning. It's the beginning of you leading an independent life. It's the beginning of your world not revolving around your daddy, your sister, and me. It's the start of you having friends whom I've never met and whose names I don't recognize. For the first time, I'll have to ask you how your day was because I wasn't right there to witness it firsthand. It's the beginning of me having to let go and trust that you can--and you will-- be okay without me there to hold your hand.

When I think about dropping you off at your classroom door and turning around to head home without you, my mind drifts back to all of the years that have passed by so quickly. I remember that final push, your daddy yelling, "He has blonde hair!", and the most wonderful cry in the world that followed. I remember all of the afternoons when you slept peacefully on my chest, your tiny body curled up against mine. I remember how you were my sidekick for those first couple of years of your life; your stranger anxiety was severe and you wanted no one but your mommy most of the time. You were late to find your voice and we worried endlessly about your lack of speech, but I remember so well when you finally did find your words-- at 2 years old-- just how proud I was of you and how thankful I was to hear your sweet voice chattering away. I remember finding out I was pregnant with your sister and all of the nights you put your little hand on my belly, just waiting to feel her kick. And I will never forget your shy smile the day you met your sister in that hospital room. You couldn't get enough of her during those early days. You always wanted to hold her and kiss her; you were (and are) such a wonderful big brother.

I know that a large part of my fear in letting you go tomorrow is that I won't be around to protect you. You're a sensitive soul, just like your mom, and I never want to see you hurting. If it were up to me, I'd keep you in a little bubble of happiness for your entire life so that you'd never have to know pain, heartbreak, loss, disappointment, hurt feelings-- any of that not-so-fun stuff. But I know that experiencing those things is an inevitable part of growing up and I can't shelter you forever. What I can do, though, is promise you this: I will always, always be here for you and I will always, always be your biggest fan.

It's time for preschool, buddy. You can do this. We can do this.

I love you,
Mommy

(All pictures are from Camden's 'Meet the Teachers' day at school last week)

 



 On the playground...

 Camden and his cousin Will with their teachers.