Tori graduated from kindergarten yesterday.
It was a sweet ceremony. A silly ceremony. Much like the six-year-olds who posed in their tiny caps and gowns on the stage.
Their little feet bounced as the slideshow chronicling their year played. Their little bodies swayed to the music. They made goofy faces at each other, and when the time came to get their diplomas, they rushed across the stage, forgetting to stop and pose as their teachers had told them to.
In the audience there were smiles and laughter, sniffles and tears. I found myself choked up, unable to breathe.
My Tori is a first grader now. It hardly seems possible.
I know there are still twelve long years ahead of us before she graduates for real and heads out into the world.
But it’s only twelve years.
Wasn’t it just yesterday that I was tearfully leaving her at daycare for the first time?
I look at my garage, still full of baby things, and I think, “it’s not too late to have another. Am I really ready to leave all things little behind?”
The answer, of course, is no. And yes (I think).
Is anyone ever really ready?
At least I still have at little while longer to cherish her warm body curled tight against mine in sleep. To make doody jokes and name fart smells as she laughs those belly laughs. And to participate in impromptu ballet lessons and epic bubble blowing sessions that follow her very specific rules.
I’ll soak in those carefree giggles and soulful cuddles while I can.
In fact, I think I’ll record her telling me, “you’re the best mommy in the whole world,” now, before she forgets.
Because she will. At least for a while.
And I’m sure I’ll sniffle and the tears will fall.
But we’ll also laugh, and talk, and hopefully cuddle every once in a while.
I’ll keep doing my best to be the Best Mommy in the World, even when she just wants me to go away.
Because someday, she’ll be me, watching her little one start to grow. And I want her to know she can call her mommy when it hurts… after all, I’m about to call mine.