You were only a few months old when I dressed you in that tiny green dress with embroidered flowers. I topped it with a white cardigan should it be cold in the nursery that Sunday. We dropped you off at the nursery at a young age because I wanted you to know forever and always church was a safe place, even when Mommy and Daddy weren’t right there. Leaving you in the arms of that teenage girl, whose eyes lit up the moment she saw you (it was most assuredly the cute dress), a part of me hesitated. Were you ready? Would you be OK?

I guess this is what it feels like letting go.

The backpack was almost the size of your entire body. We walked down our long driveway and you were bursting with confidence and excitement. I had my suspicions it was because you knew I was right there, walking beside you. Something you’d come to take for granted in life, as it should be. The yellow school bus pulled up and a friendly lady we did yet not know greeted us with a good morning. I took one last photo of you lifting your tiny legs up those great big stairs. The bus headed off down the road to kindergarten. Were you ready? Would you be OK?

I guess this is what if feels like letting go...

For more on the stages of letting go in parenthood, keep reading my essay at Her View From Home.