(Not) Just Another Graduation Post

My baby boy “graduates” tomorrow. From preschool. I’ll likely be crying like a baby. I’ll be the only one from our family to be cheerleader, photographer, videographer, official hugger, high fiver, and doter. Luckily I am adept at all those things. However, since it’s my baby boy we’re talking about here, the footage will be lousy because I’ll be weepy and overcome with emotion. Hell, I got teary just the other week at his kindergarten open house. And as I recall, I was the same wreck at Bird’s “graduation” two years ago. But then I had Mac Daddy’s strong hand to settle mine and his pocket square to dab my eyes. Actually, I made that part up. The guy still uses his sleeve to wipe his nose. Where do you think the boys got that nasty habit?

This is exactly the kid of thing I balked at before I became a mother. I mean really, preschool graduation?! Back then I had no concept of the havoc Father Time wreaks. He can be a heartless bastard. One day a sweet chirping boy with a squishy tushie, the next a hairy man with too much testosterone fighting its way out his vocal chords. I know it’s gonna happen in a blink. It’s happening already.

As it should.

My Deal is a special little guy. He’s my baby. My last. My living Polaroid reminding me to tattoo every instant into my brain. Deal is tethered to me in ways that Bird isn’t simply because it’s his nature to be so. We joke that Deal is more a lapdog who wants to be on your person all the time, while Bird is more of a cat who wants cuddling on his terms. (But watch out, when his terms settle in, you’re in for some snuggly love and deliciously gloppy kisses.) Deal adores his family, his teddy bear (Beary), his stuff beagle (Bagel), his friend Jay, his thumb. Deal is a chatty brainiac whose sense of selflessness is astounding. He’s the kid at the children’s museum helping the little ones find a dress up outfit that fits or giving up his paint brush to let someone else have a turn. He’s the kind of kid who lets you have the first taste of his ice cream cone. He’ll also let you have the last.

My little Deal is growing up, and I’m going to just have to suck it up. He’s ready for the big leagues of grade school. I know he’s going to flourish in kindergarten. He’s feeling tentative yet thrilled. And it’s my job to inspire and guide him, so I banish my melancholy and don’t let it seep out until after 8:00 when he’s sound asleep. But tomorrow, on his very last day of preschool, I can still claim his as my baby boy. The boy who started preschool clad in Pampers and is leaving as a big boy who stands up to pee and even flushes once in a while.

I might be a cheering squad of one, but one thing is certain. Deal will hear me yelp with pride and feel our family’s glow in every tear stained kiss. He will know he is loved.