When Your First Born Goes To Middle School

Dear Firstborn,

It’s been a month now, so I’ll be a little honest: the first back to school tears this year were mine. Yes, it was a week before school started, a little early, I know. Starting Middle School with you, our firstborn felt much like the day you started Kindergarten.  All the questions and second-guessing swirling through my mind as I wondered with a brave smile plastered to my face, please don’t notice my leaking eyes: what if you won’t talk to me anymore? What if we protected you too much? What if we didn’t give you enough opportunity, or time, or love…

I took you shopping for your back to school outfit. I watched you struggle to find just the right thing, but when you did, and your face lit up, we both knew it. I was quick and I caught that sob in my throat as we danced to the in-store music and tried on wildly colourful unicorn headbands and everything glitter. One moment you’re a young woman, the next my little girl.

What fun we had choosing your school supplies; binders in all the right colours, all those Hilroy scribblers full of hopeful blank pages. What will you write on them over these next 3 years? What will others write on them?  What will I write on them? I barely blinked, well, for very long, as the numbers rang in and added up at the checkout.

Your first day of Middle School was a busy start and maybe not the most logical approach to everyone’s firsts. Your Dad just smiled and shook his head at me because he knew my heart would lead us that morning.  There would be no buses, no dividing and conquering drop off with your Dad either. We would drive everyone to their firsts. Your sister and brother starting Grade 4 and 2, the baby started Preschool. I needed to see each of you off because yes, you each grow more again with these next steps, but I grow too, as my heart stretches again.  I won’t tell you, not yet, this day is about you, but oh how the stretching hurts.

I was nervous dropping you off. I wasn’t’ sure what to expect but I wanted to appear sure for you. You were quiet, and honestly, I was just as uncertain. Was this something you would want to do on your own? Did you want me there? Would other parents be there?  Did you know parents have these many questions too?

We landed on the parking lot asphalt together while your Dad went looking to park the van. We were looking for what was next. The crowd was huge, and it was hard to imagine all of those students were in Grade 6. I scanned the crowd for familiar faces and then your hand slipped into mine and squeezed it tight, uncertain. I fought tears and squeezed yours tight with all the certainty a Mother can muster up for her child.

And then, across the parking lot, I saw some familiar faces, your people. “Look! There they are!” I pointed and lead you through the crowd, you hand still tightly squeezing mine. “I won’t be able to let go.” I thought to myself as we maneuvered the crowd. “She’s not ready, how do I leave her?”

As we arrived, just as quickly, you let go of my hand, and beamed waved and turned away. I gasped as I felt my heart stretch again. This is how this next bit works. As the bell rang you ran back and hugged me tightly before joining your friends again. Yes, this is how this next bit works. I’m here; here to hold your hand tight or to wave as you go. I’m here, holding and waving.

It’s been a month now, so I’ll be honest. I’ve never had a Middle Schooler before and I’ve heard some horribly terrifying things. If you’re honest though, I know you have heard them too. So, can we just do this thing together? I’ll do my best and I’ll make so many mistakes, holding and waving, but here’s the thing: I believe in you.

You’re going to make some mistakes too, but here’s my hand, when you want it.

love,

Mom