Pomp & Circumstance

I'm writing this on the eve of our last day of preschool. Ever. Tomorrow my second child, (aka: my last child), will "graduate" from the hallowed halls of early childhood education and wing her way into Kindergarten. After six years of one or both of my kids attending preschool, it's now almost over.

And I feel like I'm "graduating", too.

The momma I was then and the momma I am now, well, there's no comparison. That pre- preschool momma had lots more time and lots more patience (and one less kid), for starters. But she also had lots more doubts and lots more anxiety. She had much higher expectations (read: impossible) and read far too many parenting books. And she was lonely. Very lonely.

Preschool changed all that.

Before I walked Liam into preschool that first day in September of 2007,  I could honestly say that I had only one friend with a baby/child. One. And we didn't really get to see each other too much.  Instead, I was that mom that would stalk the Starbucks by our house looking for women who were also accompanied by small shrieking humans, desperate to have a conversation with another adult, maybe make a friend.  A practice I employed (mostly unsuccessfully) for 2 years.

I wish I was kidding.  But a lonely momma has no pride.

So, there I was holding the small, adorable, pudgy hand of my 2 1/2 year old, my one and only, my heart and soul, feeling both dread and excitement for this big new step of "preschool". And then I saw them. The mommas. All holding the small, adorable, pudgy hands of THEIR precious ones. And my life changed forever. There is something about being flung together during life's most important yet traumatic (and exciting) years that create bonds that become deep and unbreakable. High school, college and, without a doubt, parenthood. Friendships rooted in survival. And that is what these first years of parenting feel like a good amount of the time. Survival. Wondrous? Yes. Joyous? You betcha. But mostly, it's survival. 

And I made it with a little help from my friends. 

These women that held my hand, crying with me, on the first morning I said good-bye and dropped my sweet boy off by himself. I didn't have to say a word. They just knew. And they didn't judge and they didn't point out the obvious. They just let me mourn that moment for what it was, let me feel what I needed to feel. And then they bought me Starbucks. 

These women who listened to my anxiety and worry over the changes a second baby would bring and who then held that baby so that I could give Liam that extra long squeeze he needed or linger over a goodbye. These women who hugged me as I watched Liam struggle then hugged me even tighter as I celebrated his victories. These women who took my kid(s) so I could attend a field trip, go to the dentist, grocery shop solo or lay in bed sick with the flu. 

These women who knew what it felt like to be brought to their knees by a 4 year old. Whose backseat held as many fishy crackers and rogue sippy cups as mine. Who knew when it was time for a bitch session. Or wine. Or laughter. Or solitude. 

These women who expected honesty and gave it in return. Who made it okay to feel overwhelmed, unsure, inadequate. Who listened. Who counseled. Who said just the right thing or nothing at all. 

These women who have walked this road with me. Who have been in the trenches with me. Who have sheltered me. Supported me. Loved me. 

Just like Annie, it is time for me to wing my way into a new beginning. Wiser than I was six years ago, better for having had this time to develop my skills as a parent. And blessed beyond measure by the women I have met along the way. These women whose hearts I take with me. Who will get me through the teen years, who will watch my kids graduate high school, who will let me cry then get me drunk when those same kids leave home, and who will ooh and ahh appreciatively when I pull out 500 pictures of my beautiful grandbabies. 

These women. My friends.