My boy, the pre-schooler.

Last week Wes went to his very first pre-school class.

He woke up that morning with an enormous grin on his face.  It was finally his turn.  He had been telling friends and strangers alike that he was going to his own school for days leading up to it.

As a mama, I experienced the true meaning of bittersweet.  It’s a different feeling with your last baby than it is with your first.  You are no less proud, but you are more confident.  You’ve lived through watching one child, seemingly so small, with a backpack basically the size of their whole body wrapped around their tiny shoulders step into a classroom, ready to take on the world.  You’ve smiled as they look back to make sure you were still there, and cried your eyes out in the car when they weren’t looking.  You’ve arrived extra early at the end of that first day to make sure yours is the first face they see when the door opens.

With your last child, you watch them take the same steps, you have the same fears and the same pride.  You smile the same smiles and cry the same tears – but this time you know firsthand how fast time flies.  You know you can’t get time back, so this time you stop and breathe in the big moments maybe just a little longer than you did the first time around.  Those moments are fleeting, and this time you know it.

We ate a special breakfast, we picked out our best duds, we snapped pictures.  No first day of school should be without the special touches, and we made sure that Wes experienced every one.

In 10 years he won’t remember that day.  He won’t remember being so excited about going to school – just like Jaia does.  He won’t remember what he had for breakfast or what his first backpack looked like.  But he will always have the pictures of him and hopefully they’ll remind him of how awesome we think he is and how incredibly proud we are of him.

Happy first day, little dude.