FIRST

 

My baby boy started first grade this morning. He was happy and ready to go back; confidence fairly dripped from him this morning. He chose his own clothes, down to his socks, and was feeling good about it.

 

"Really?" said my husband, as he looked at Dylan's black socks and neon shoes, things he would have never worn as a boy. Things he would never wear now, for that matter.

"He's got style! He's HAPPY." I said.

"True," said the husband, shaking his head, but smiling too.

 

Last night I made a cake and Dylan's favorite meal, spaghetti, for dinner, as a little back to school celebration.

 

This morning, I packed him a lunch ("Peanut butter with honey, not jam!") and wrote him a note.

 

Every first day of school, we measure him, and I cannot get over how much he grows every year. It makes my mama heart ache and fill with pride at the same time, because even though he drives me crazy, he is sweet and kind and polite and funny and respectful and growing up only makes him more fun, more loveable and how is that even possible because look at this. This is loveable!

 

 

And yet, I wouldn't go back. Not back to first day of kindergarten or preschool. Not to little plaid shorts and baby smirks. Not to first steps, or first days, even. Because I love the person this boy is, and is growing into.

 

Happy first day of school, baby son.