Today we joined the bus stop crew for Evie’s first day of Kindergarten. The anticipation felt like I was waiting to go on a rollercoaster; my stomach in knots, anxious, excited.  

The bus turned the corner, stopped and I watched my daughter get on the bus, for the first time. The doors opened, the bus driver welcomed her, and Evie walked right up the stairs. 

She didn’t look back, not for a second. She didn’t wave. She sat down next to her friend and they started talking and laughing. 

I desperately tried to take pictures of this milestone, while my poor little son screamed and cried because he wanted to go with her. He was, in fact, acting how I was feeling inside. How I was really feeling about it, deep down. What my son didn’t know is that I wanted to go with her, too. 

Sure, I cried a little in front of everyone. But, on the inside I cried louder. I’ll always cry. Because this moment is her, growing up. And, it’s happening quickly. I can’t control it, nor should I try to, or I would do more harm. I’ll joke about wanting to peer-in the windows of her class, or about doing a drive-by at recess. That is me wanting to make sure she is ok, having a good day, seeing that she isn’t struggling with the adjustment, like I am. 

But her starting Kindergarten is one of those parenting moments where I have to let her go. I need to be supportive and excited for her. Let her go forth into the world to find herself, her voice, find her way, figure things out, make her mark. 

To me, her Mommy, she looked so little on that bus. She looked so little in her new school, and its maze of hallways and droves of lockers. But, you know what? This is how it’s always going to be, for me.  

She’ll always be my little baby, no matter how big she gets. On the outside, I will do my best to let her go. To guide and help when asked, instead of being a helicopter parent. But, in my heart, as her Mommy, I will never let her go.