My baby graduated from preschool yesterday. I was so proud because she’s mastered the preschool curriculum of cutting along a squiggly line, writing her name, and making “pizzas” out of clay. She’s brilliant! She knows her colors, shapes, and ABCs. She’s ready for kindergarten. Her mom is not.
I was fine when Austin graduated from preschool. I was fine when Savannah graduated from preschool. I was fine when Jackson, Lexington, and Clayton graduated from preschool. But this one hit me. She’s my baby. She’s the last of my kids to go to preschool. And now she’s a big kid. A sense of sadness hit me, knowing that I’ll never set foot in that preschool again. I’ll never go to another Halloween party there. I’ll never have candy cane punch after doing the S-A-N-T-A dance with my child.
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