And suddenly this week, New School Week, we're walking into the lobby of the familiar park district building, past signs that used to point us to the mother-baby and then mother-toddler music classes and around the corner, into preschool wing, and his green-mittened hand curls into mine, then out. And he's running, and he's ready, my boy. Ready to go be Peabody in a completely new world. In my mind I'm running behind him to catch up and understand how he's making this transition just like that.
Often I look at him and see myself. Often I feel my own reservations and fears and insecurities in this boy who's ever so much just a short me with a round fuzzy head. Sometimes I feel broken by the mistakes I make against him which are also against my little self, and I think How? How do I parent him to fix what broke in me, so he flies where once I crawled, so he is chin up and grins where once I was floor-stare and sad-eyes?
And today I marvel at his easy face, his bouncy steps, his lively chatter, those confident shoulders and that gorgeous fuzzy head held high and swiveling this way, that way, bent in towards his new teacher, bent in towards just everything, and comfortable in a way I have only ever wished for myself, and I realize, by the grace of God, I might actually be doing it.