Tomorrow, my little baby starts school. He won't be preschool age until November, but we're starting him at the school early because, well, my school year starts quite some time before November and really? He is so ready for this. He's so ready to be challenged and encouraged. He's ready to socialize in a way we can't really provide at home. He's incredibly excited; we've taken a couple of trips to see the school, and we went to an Open House on Saturday. The flyer is on the fridge and he keeps looking at it and talking about "my school". He's already made a friend, Jason, and we adore his teacher, Miss Sam. I'm nervous about leaving him in someone else's hands, somewhere not our home, but I think once we're in a routine, it'll be just fine. It's just for the mornings, when daddy goes to his job and mommy goes to her job and Sammy goes to his school, and when we're all done, we'll be back at home and we can tell each other all about our days. (Can you tell I've said this over and over and over the past two weeks?)
I've read quite a few moms who mourn the loss of the "baby" in their baby, who have a hard time coming to terms with their child growing up and the milestones attached to that. Me? Not so much. My anxiety is centered around how he's going to do, not that he's growing up and into his own little world separate from us. If anything, I'm excited about that. A heart dad commented on a post over at Sammy's site: "Sometimes I believe I have an advantage over parents of "heart-healthy" kids. The time they have spent lamenting how quickly their kids are growing up, I have spent hoping and dreaming that Sophia would get to grow up."
I get this. Each milestone we hit is one we were so uncertain we would ever get to see. Each one is a huge celebration of the thing we weren't sure he would get to experience. Is there a tinge of sadness in it somewhere? I'm sure, somewhere there is. Will I cry tomorrow? Maybe. But my heart is full of excitement and joy with each step forward he takes, full with realization that yet another hope, another dream, is being fulfilled. If I cry, I can guarantee that will be why. I want to go back to the me, pregnant and terrified, the me pre-Fontan, and tell them, One day, you WILL get to see your little boy head off to school. I promise you this.
That day is tomorrow. And for that I'm so, so grateful.
My name is erika-renee, but call me eka - pronounced "eh-ka." I'm suddenly somehow 32, though I still love pigtails and overalls and silly, happy things. I live north of Boston, and I'm happily married to 
I'm a mama!
