Preschool Graduation

Sam graduated from preschool at the end of May.  And I was so very proud of him.  He was so handsome and did so well during the program.  He sang, demonstrated his counting skills and read a short book all by himself.  He was so composed and I stared at him, wondering where on earth the baby boy was that only yesterday I was cradling in my arms.  I found myself holding my breath as he sang.  And counted.  And read.  And I nearly fainted as I saw him tumble, head first out of his chair onto the stage.  In slow motion.  My baby got his legs caught in his gown and in trying to free his feet, he fell flat on his face.  I gasped and spouted out a "Lord, Jesus!" that I'm quite sure was recorded on every video camera and cell phone.  I knew that it was over.  There was no way he'd recover from such a public tumble.  I prepared myself to run and scoop him off the stage, freeing him from his embarrassment.  I watched him climb back into his chair, waiting for my cue to rescue him.  I knew there would be tears.  And a broken heart.  And I couldn't get my hands on him fast enough.  But my boy surprised me.  His eyes met mine and there were no tears, no sadness.  I gave him a thumbs up and mouthed, "It's okay.  It's okay." to him. He gave me a thumbs up and mouthed back to me, "It's okay.  It's okay."  And in that moment, I couldn't have been prouder of him.  Not his counting. Not his singing. Not his reading. Not his "graduating."  I found myself the most proud as I watched him stumble, fall, and pick himself back up again.  With a smile.  And a thumbs up.

So why has it taken me nearly a month to post images from that night and tell about the ceremony?  Because I can't bear to think about him starting school.  And being five.  And being away from us for so many hours a day. I can't bear the thought of it.  And yet I know that in two short months that time will be here.  And I'll blink and he'll be graduating from high school.  And if how I felt at his preschool graduation is indication to how I'll feel on that day, one of two things will likely happen.  I'll either need to be medicated or I'll be one of those parents who totally embarrasses her child by screaming, "That's my baby!  That's my baby!" as he walks across the stage.  For Sam's sake, I hope a nerve pill will be available.