Kate Holt
Kate Holt
Aug 24, 2017 · 4 min read

The Happiest Saddest Mom Writes About Kindergarten and Preschool

My boys started kindergarten and preschool this week and my heart is toggling between swelling with pride, tightening from anticipation of all this newness (and mild-to-frenetic chaos), and, honestly? Breaking as an era ends.

Everyone says it’s fleeting. Every parent told me the same thing: the days are long, the years are short. It was either that nugget of truthful wisdom, or, that nothing is permanent in parenthood; quite literally, everything is a phase.

When I was expecting both of my sons, I knew to expect that. Of course I didn’t fully understand the breadth and depth — and pace! — of exhaustion, resentment, joy, pain, fear, dread, excitement, pride, elation… not until I was in it. It took being in the trench to appreciate the trench, you know? It took hard moments and bad days to make savoring the good ones second-nature.

Recently, with the help of my village (family and friends who are generous with their kindness and encouragement), I developed a coping mechanism where I pick and choose what I allow to harbor in my heart. If it was bad, what is the lesson I need to learn? If it was good, what is the memory I chose to cherish? I don’t dwell on mistakes, no matter how big or small (I should have tried to feed my firstborn more fresh fruits as a baby because packing his school lunch would be way easier now), and I don’t get too cozy in wins (he ate a tuna fish sandwich every day last week, but let’s not expect that to happen again this week… and besides, is that much tuna good for a three year old?).

Every day I’m trying to take pressure off myself, and stay in the present. I am focusing on just being the mom I am, instead of the mom I thought I would be. When I don’t spend so much time thinking about what I had hoped for, I have time to see all I have created, all I am managing, and all the blessings that have been given to me. My husband and I did this together, of course, but you’ll need to ask him about his specific feelings on arriving to this point. (As for us, we’ve been high-fiving every night after the kids go to bed, and lingering for a longer hug every morning. We make a great team.)

This week? This week my thumbs keep finding Instagram. I keep scrolling and scrolling through my old photos. I started my account when I was barely pregnant with my first child, and things picked up quickly from there. I’ve taken… a lot… of pictures. I go back and look at their faces, their toes. I look at a picture and I make sure I can remember what’s on either side of it. What happened in the moments before and after the shot was taken? That’s what I want to keep. I mostly do remember, and I’ll continue to try, because I took those pictures for a reason, and the greater memory, and story, is what I really wanted to capture. My story. My memories. My people. My life.

Looking back over the last five years, and knowing I’m such a newbie in the big scheme of parenthood, I am grateful I’ve been capturing glances into my sons’ personalities, as they are ever-evolving. And witnessing a human become their own person has to be one of the biggest honors of my life.

It’s emotionally intense, though. Early parenthood is like meeting someone new every day, except that someone also feels like a person you’ve known your whole life. It’s also saying goodbye forever to someone every day, and knowing that someone was one of the biggest loves of your life.

Every day I fall in love, all over again, with a child who is coming more and more into their own. And every day I say goodbye to the baby I once held, tummy-to-tummy, feeling every inhale with a swell of his skin touching my own.

Even on bad days. Even on days when bedtime doesn’t come soon enough and there isn’t enough wine in the world. Even when I’m not noticing the seasons changing.

This week, when I looked at pictures of my children as babies, toddlers, I kept thinking:

And then I fell in love with you again.

And then I fell in love with you again.

And then I fell in love with you again.

And then I fell in love with you again.

Daily, subconsciously or literally, I celebrate the people they are becoming because they are growing into new, wonderful people every day. Storytellers and comedians, empathetic friends and inquisitive tricksters — they’re the best. And still, somewhere deep in my heart, I mourn the loss of the people I — just yesterday — held in my arms, and loved, and wanted, and waited for my whole life.

“The days are long, the years are short.”

“Nothing is permanent in parenthood; everything is a phase.”

Even the people we are. Even the parents we are. Especially the people young children are. I knew this, going in. I understood on a rational and intellectual level how evolution and growth work. But my heart didn’t anticipate the emotional toll. And so this week it’s toggling between swelling and tightening and breaking. And I’m proud, exhausted, and a little bit sad.

And that’s okay. It’s just a phase.

)

Kate Holt

Written by

I’m a San Francisco-based writer who cooks a lot and swears. I’m also the wife of a very kind and patient man, and the mother of wonderful, loud, young people.

Welcome to a place where words matter. On Medium, smart voices and original ideas take center stage - with no ads in sight. Watch
Follow all the topics you care about, and we’ll deliver the best stories for you to your homepage and inbox. Explore
Get unlimited access to the best stories on Medium — and support writers while you’re at it. Just $5/month. Upgrade