Bitter-Sweet...

We have a ritual. OK ritual may be too strong of a word. But for all intents and purposes we'll call it a ritual. On days that I drive to pre-school, we park, get out of the car locking the babies in (it's a secluded residential street so my psycho kidnapper fears are temporarily put on hold due mostly to the necessity of not carrying two babies), and I walk Charlie and his little buddy in the front door, up the stairs, and into the room where class is held, all the while holding his sweet, little, not so baby chubby, hand. We've worked ourselves into a pattern of him clinging, I tell him it'll be great and off he goes.

Today however, as I got him and his lil pal out of the car, we start to walk up the steps and he stops and turns to me. "Mom, don't come with me. I go with my friends." What? Can it be? My little baby boy is turning into a big boy? A wave of love and pride washed over me. He is so big. Whats next? Tying his own shoes? Pooping on the toilet without fear? (heaven forbid) Then the next realization hit. My eyes welled up. My little baby boy is turning into a big boy. He doesn't need me to walk him inside, up the stairs, and into the room where class is held. He doesn't need me to make sure he doesn't go in the front door and out the back without his teacher seeing him and not knowing he is there and wandering off forever. Ya, that's how my mind works.

He's got it handled. I always wanted my kids to have their autonomy and today I got my first real lesson in letting him. Now it's time to practice what I preach. So until he stops letting me kiss him goodbye, we should be good?