I’m Not Quite Ready for Kindergarten

home insemination Kit

By: Eliza Thompson
Updated: Dec. 18, 2015
Originally Published: Aug. 13, 2015

When Max entered the world, he had an almost magical aura about him. He reminded me of a wise little creature from a fairy tale—perhaps a baby Yoda or a mystical elf living under a giant mushroom. His eyes seemed to carry the weight of knowledge, and he possessed an unusual serenity—well, for a baby, anyway. Honestly, it was a bit unsettling at first, like he was always observing and evaluating me. I remember my dad saying that before long, I’d be purchasing a backpack for him. I genuinely thought that I wouldn’t last that long; I worried I’d be a sleep-deprived zombie in just a few days.

Well, the backpack finally arrived in the mail a few days ago—bright orange camouflage, accompanied by a matching lunch box. And here I am, still standing.

Max has been in daycare since he was just 12 weeks old. I didn’t shed a tear when I dropped him off on his first day. I’ve left him with grandparents, at day camps, and playgroups; hours and sometimes days apart are no stranger to us. With our recent move and frequent travels, we’ve become accustomed to the cycle of hellos and goodbyes.

So, why is this upcoming kindergarten milestone weighing so heavily on me? Our daily routine won’t change much—wake up, have breakfast, pack lunch, and say goodbye. Max will head off to school while I work from home. It’s basically the same old song. Yet, somehow, it doesn’t feel that way—especially now, just days away from the first bus stop morning.

I scroll through friends’ Facebook pictures of their little ones starting school, and I chat with other moms. I know everyone makes it through that first day of kindergarten. We want our children to grow, learn, and make new friends. Max will soon be able to read—how amazing is that?

But at the same time, it feels as though something vital is slipping away. Time, for instance. If the last five and a half years flew by so quickly, how fast will the next thirteen go? Can I keep up? Can I remain present and engaged? Will I be able to hold on to these fleeting moments?

Looking back on the past five and a half years, I have no regrets. We’ve shared incredible times, even on the tough days filled with exhaustion and frustration. We enjoyed cuddles, afternoon naps, and sunny playground adventures. I don’t wish I had breastfed longer or stayed home more or enrolled him in more music classes. We did what worked for us—imperfect, chaotic, and messy, but ultimately filled with joy.

As we face kindergarten, I find myself wishing I had gathered more wisdom along the way about raising him. It often feels like I’m catching up, breathless and rushing from one challenge to the next. Just when I think I’ve mastered one topic, another issue arises, and I’m back to fumbling for answers. In a single day, I’m explaining everything from the purpose of his anatomy to why the sky is blue, how cars operate, and why we shouldn’t call anyone a “poopy head.” It’s overwhelming and exhilarating, and by the end of each day, I’m well aware that at least one of my answers was muddled, lost in translation. Parenting is an ever-evolving game, and I must remain calm and steady at every turn.

That uncertainty looms larger when I think about school—bullies, teachers, homework, sports, and field trips. The questions seem to grow more complex, as do the answers, all influenced by the subtle nuances of life that he’s beginning to grasp. I really don’t want to mess this up for him. I need to get it right. School marks a significant turning point—its impact will last a lifetime.

Perhaps that’s why kindergarten feels so daunting; it feels like a test. Everything I’ve done up to this point will be scrutinized. Can he sit still? Is he kind to others? Can he advocate for himself? Will he feel empowered to take risks and learn? Have I provided him with enough love, attention, and space to build a strong foundation? Will school enhance what I’ve nurtured, or will it dismantle it?

I know that soon enough, we’ll settle into our new routine, and it will feel familiar. Just as we forget the pain of childbirth or the exact moment our baby first smiled, I will likely forget the cozy days of preschool. School will become the new normal. I can’t explain how this happens—this fading memory and the settling into the new—but it does.

I also can’t quite fathom how the goo in that orange cup transformed into a boy who just smashed a wooden board with his elbow in Taekwondo class and who has strong opinions about his backpack color. I’m not sure if it’s my doing, science, magic, or divine intervention, but if I had to guess, it’s probably a bit of everything.

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In summary, facing kindergarten brings a mix of excitement and apprehension as I reflect on the past and look to the future. Time seems to be flying, and while I have no regrets, the transition feels monumental. I hope I can guide Max through this new chapter successfully.