To Jack, on your (preschool) graduation day...

Dear Jack on your (preschool) graduation day,  

 I can already picture your 18 year old self proclaiming, “But mooooooooom. It’s just preschool – it’s not a big deal.” Then why, my sweet boy, can I not pull into the preschool parking lot during this last week of school without dissolving into a puddle of tears? 

Maybe it’s because you are my first born – the one we wanted so badly and waited so patiently for.  But plenty of moms will be sitting there during the last show watching their first born children “graduate” from preschool without gasping for air between bouts of ugly cries. So why, oh why, is this so very hard for me?

You see, you and I got to this place by taking a different path.  Your first year of life was not typical and it made me fiercely protective of you.  There was a moment where we didn’t even know if you’d be able to attend “regular” school with “regular” kids.  I’ve spent the last five years eyeing down strangers in Target who looked like they were going to say something or ignoring the conversation with the mom next to me at the playground because that kid following you around might do/say something about your glasses.  I was/am the Mama Bear of Mama Bears.

You were safely guarded at preschool, and I fell in love with the teachers who were as fiercely protective of you as I am.  Being at that school was like being with family, and it was more than easy to send you off every day.  And now you’re leaving.  The bubble I’ve created and kept sacred for five years is now expanding to include things like school buses and cafeterias, and much older kids…and a place I cannot protect you. For 8 hours a day, I will not know if you’re ok, if you’re happy or being teased.  Your teachers won’t be as easily reached, and I can’t call the front office just to check in if you’re having a bad day.  It scares me to death. 

 Here’s the thing – you’re going to be fine. I am so excited for all the things Kindergarten holds for you, but what I wouldn’t give to protect you for one more minute, one more day, one more year. Everyone tells you it goes by fast, but holy cow, that was lightning speed.  I just keep thinking of a quote from one of my favorite movies, “Father of the Bride” (which I can also not get through without sobbing, but that has to do more with your sister):

 Sooner or later, you just have to let your kids go and hope you brought ‘em up right. 



I’m not letting go, trust me, I never will.  But I suppose I’ll have to loosen the reigns a bit.  I love you to the moon and back, kiddo, and this Mama Bear will never let go. 

Love,

Mommy

 

become this so quickly???

How does this.....

 

"I don't want to burst your bubble..."

Well, there are seven words you don't want to hear at a doctor's appointment.  Bubbles burst. 

When we first came through Jack's initial surgeries, almost 4 1/2 years ago, we were led to believe that there would eventually be an end in sight.  Maybe we did it to ourselves, but we truly thought that when Jack was 4, he would have the IOLs (implants) put in, eyes would be fixed and glasses/cataracts would all be a history.  It's what got us through. 

Fast forward those 4 1/2 years and that's not exaaaaaaaaaactly how it's turning out.  For one, Jack's prescription is still changing too frequently for our doctor to feel comfortable putting the IOLs in, especially because there is really no other reason to do it.  (A lot of times doctors have to do it because of contact intolerances, problems with glasses, etc.)  Jack is fine.  He wears his glasses, and he sees almost perfectly with them.

The other issue is his left eye.  We have never had any outlying issues besides the cataracts, so it knocked us down a peg when we were instructed to patch Jack's eye for 2 hours a day.  I know I'm his mom, but seriously, Jack is the sweetest, kindest, most well behaved kid I have ever met.  To stick that thing on his face every day makes me cry, but boy has he taken it like a champ.  (And I must say, he looks adorable with it on.)

There's another black cloud hanging over me: kindergarten.  I know that sounds silly, but for the last almost 5 years, it was in my head that this would all be taken care of by the time Jack started kindergarten.  I envisioned his little glasses-free face getting on the bus, meeting a whole new group of kids that had no idea what he had been through in his little life.  This is where my bubble was burst.  I made a comment about having this taken care of before he started kindergarten, and the doctor's exact words were, "I don't want to burst your bubble, but he's going to be dealing with this for life."  I love our doctor, I really do.  I don't mean to make her sound like a monster, and to be honest, it's probably the slap in the face I needed.  But ugh. 

So at the end of the day, we still consider ourselves very lucky.  Patching 2 hours a day is nothing compared to what some people have gone through, but I have a whole new appreciation for you all!  We coasted for awhile and this is just a little bump in the road.  My next mission is to find some "kindergarten-friendly" glasses!