Dear Bananas,
I am writing this from my bed, having checked on you three times already and using this message as an excuse to avoid a fourth. You’re beautiful when you’re sleeping, by the way. Always; but in those peaceful moments when your body is at rest, you’re angelic. I am amazed we made you and I am overjoyed at the kid you are and the person you’re becoming. You’re a great big sister and so tender and kind….and tenacious and demanding and loud. You need to be all of those things in this world and all of those things are qualities people fight and coach themselves into; and they are yours as a child. You’re nervous there might be a bully there- I’m not. You’re pretty good at calling people out on their nonsense and, although you might be a little shy- you’re never afraid of speaking up for yourself or others. I’m nervous for you for so many reasons and all of them are far too heavy and far too lofty to place on your little shoulders. Mostly I can’t believe how fast you’ve grown. Even though I have logically watched you grow and counted the moments and seconds that the teething and purple crying and tantrums would end, I am shocked that they have and that we find ourselves here at this new door and a new chapter of our journey together.
Kindergarten is just an all year Orientation for grade school- still, it’s a major milestone. It’s when we’re legally obligated to let the state have a look at you, yes, but also when you start gaining instruction in academics and social studies. It’s where you’ll feel your heart first beat in sync with another and where you’ll find forever friends and nostalgic memories. It’s where you’ll learn to fight for real and what ugliness really looks like and how monsters are actually wearing people suits. Where you’ll compete and console. Learn and teach. In short- grow. I am so envious of that growth. These will be the first steps I don’t see you take. The first victories I’ll hear about second hand and the first heartbreaks I can’t fend off and God, I wish I could.
I want to cancel Kindergarten; un-enroll you or tell the school we ran away to Russia (things are bad with them right now, okay, they’ll never look for us there). But I can’t keep you forever and although I am Wiley and clever- your dad isn’t going to agree to go on the run with me just because I think “this whole Kindergarten thing” is happening much too quickly. Besides, you’re so excited you’ve practiced putting on and taking off your backpack twice. I don’t know what kind of action you’re planning on seeing but I appreciate the preparedness.
I hope you have the best first day ever and I hope you find joy on this new path. I promise to keep all of your macaroni art until you’re 30. ish. I’m just going to go check on you one more time.
