My daughter is about to turn five, and I’m already feeling a sense of loss. I’ve reached this milestone with my three sons, but the ache is just as profound with her. Five is my least favorite age. It’s the year when they begin to spread their little wings and venture off to kindergarten. This time, it’s particularly tough for me because she is my youngest. I know I will never have a baby at home again, and that realization breaks my heart.
I understand that this might sound overly dramatic to some. Words like “heartbreak” and “mourning” carry a weight, but that’s genuinely how I feel. Turning five signifies a significant transition. The baby who kept me awake at night, who I nursed for hours, who once screamed at her first taste of peas and gave me a tough time with potty training, is now preparing to leave the nest. Yes, I will always be her mother, but that deep reliance is fleeting, and I’m struggling to come to terms with it.
I sensed this day was approaching when I enrolled her in preschool. Those half-days were a preparation for what’s to come. She can now wait her turn patiently, drink from a cup, and clear her plate. She no longer needs my help in the bathroom. She’s even learned to form her letters beautifully, putting in a heartfelt effort to spell her name. All these skills are meant to help her thrive in kindergarten just a few months away.
I don’t want to hold her back. I want her to flourish, and I encourage her to do so. I adore the colorful pictures she brings me, meticulously colored within the lines. Hearing her recite “The Pledge of Allegiance” fills me with pride as she smiles, hand on her heart. Yet, I’d be lying if I said I didn’t wish to hold onto four just a little longer. Four is a magical age. We can have intelligent conversations, sing along to her favorite songs, play games like Old Maid, and enjoy cozy movie afternoons. She still climbs into my lap for snuggles and closes her eyes for a quick nap after a long morning at Pre-K. She’s clinging to those last remnants of babyhood, and I’m cherishing every second.
Lately, she has developed the habit of waking up in the middle of the night and crawling into our bed. I know I should take her back to her own room, but I can’t bring myself to do it. This is my last chance with a little one. My nearly 13-year-old son isn’t coming in for hugs at 2 a.m. I’m savoring these moments while I can. One night, when I asked her why she came in, she said, “Because I think about where you are, and I miss you.” Who wouldn’t cherish that?
At nearly five, she is starting to assert her independence. She seeks privacy in the bathroom and prefers to change her clothes alone. After her bath, she brushes her hair and heads straight to brush her teeth without prompting. In the mornings, she chooses her outfits and isn’t shy about expressing her preferences. Don’t even think about helping her zip her coat; she’ll huff and start over if you do. It feels like just yesterday I was strapping her into a car seat, and now she buckles herself in with pride. How did this happen so quickly?
We are on the brink of homework sheets and packed lunches. She’ll wear a uniform in the fall, choosing just her bow and shoes. Her cousin is in kindergarten this year, and she can’t wait to follow in her footsteps. I registered her for kindergarten last month and cried all the way home. She seems ready, yet I’m still in denial. Where has my baby gone? Why can’t time just slow down? I wish I could have a little more of it.
However, my desire to keep her at four isn’t fair to her. She has a world waiting that she is eager to explore. Each morning, as I drop her brothers off at school, she beams at the playground where she’ll soon play. She waves at the teachers checking temperatures and handing out hand sanitizer. While sending her to kindergarten during a pandemic adds to my sadness, it’s just the reality we live in.
She is beautiful, intelligent, and strong. She will achieve great things, and it all begins at five. If I know her, she’ll tackle the world with enthusiasm. I eagerly anticipate her first Christmas program and will proudly hang her artwork on the fridge. We’ll do our homework and practice sight words together. We will face five as a team, but until that moment arrives, I’m holding tightly to four. I’m taking spontaneous trips to Target and playing hooky on random Tuesdays for cousin playdates. We’ll keep wearing our matching outfits that she picks, and every night, I’ll shift over in bed for her, because little ones stay little for only a short while.
Though I may never experience having a four-year-old again, I will still have five, six, seven, eight, and many more years ahead. I feel honored to be their mother. They complete me. While I miss those early days, I see how much better they become with each passing year. When the time comes to say goodbye to four and embrace five, I will welcome the adventures that await.
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