My son starts Kindergarten today.
He’s my first born. And he starts kindy. Today!
It’s a strange sensation, preparing him for this right of passage that has been an inevitability since birth.
All children are noisy and inquisitive. However, on a scale of one to ten, my son would score a twelve for questions asked per day. He is only quiet when he sleeps. Our conversations go like this. “Why is our car blue? Who painted it? Why is that their job? What will my job be? What’s money? Can we buy a toy? Where do toys come from? What’s a factory? Can I see a factory? Where are we going? Why are we going there?” And on and on and on.
I have joked to my husband that I’m probably more excited than he is, about the start of kindy. The prospect of passing some of those questions over to another adult to field for a while is intoxicating. His inquisitiveness is something I adore about him, and try to nurture as much as possible, by giving well-thought-out answers to even the most inexplicable questions: “What makes bananas taste good?”.
But now that the day has come, and our floorboards have had holes worn in them from all the excited jumping up and down (from him, mostly), I find myself filled with trepidation. This is the first time I’ve really relinquished the responsibility for him. He will now be shaped and influenced by people other than me. He’ll learn silly expressions, and likely be teased, and definitely tell jokes. He’ll fall off the slide and I won’t be there to kiss his scrapes better. Hopefully he’ll learn to draw (at four, a very abstract scribble is the closest we get to a picture of daddy).
I expect I’ll get over my trepidation, once it sinks in that he’s happy, and I have a little time to have a quiet cup of tea every now and again…. Think of me though, as I slip his slender, pale arms into his backpack straps and send him out into the big wide world! Gulp!