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It took me several days to post this and I still can’t do it without turning into a blubbering fool.

Friday, September 5th, 2008 was one of those days where I realized my baby wasn’t so much a “baby” anymore. See, I didn’t get to have the typical “first day of kindergarten” experiences that most mothers have and that I had with my other two children. I didn’t get to stand there clutching her tiny little hand in mine, heart breaking, smile on my face and tears in my eyes, telling her it’ll all be ok and not  knowing who needs convincing more - me or her. Having that moment taken away from me because of a stupid, selfish stunt the Sperm Donor pulled in an attempt to gain some leverage in a custody battle, that’s something I don’t think I can ever forgive. I will never have that day etched in my memory. There’s an empty place in my heart where the First Day of Kindergarten should be.

So Friday September 5th, several days into First Grade, is the closest I will come to it.

Last year, I always pulled up in the school’s driveway to pick her up and drop her off. In the morning, I’d take her into Kid’s Club before school then rush home to log on to the computer in time for my shift on my day job. And in the afternoon I’d get there early enough to snag a parking spot right up front where I could see her and she could see me as soon as she walked out of the building.

This year our schedule has changed - no more day job so no more Kid’s Club - and the school’s policies have changed - no more primo spots in front of the school entrance.  So we park at the bottom of the hill in the parking lot, early enough in the morning for her to sit in the car with me until its time to go in and early enough in the afternoon where I can park instead of having to circle around and wait for a spot.

For the first few days, I walked up to the building and stood in line with her. She’s got some attachment issues that I don’t really talk about much openly but its bad enough to where she wants me to just stay at school with her all day. After those first few days, I thought maybe it was too hard on both of us if I stayed in line with her so I suggested one morning that she walk up the hill herself. At first, she didn’t hesitate.

“Hey, sweetie, you wanna walk up to the school by yourself like a big girl?”

“Okay!”

“You can wait in the car with me until its time to go in if you want.”

“Okay!”

So there we sat having our standard morning chatter about Topics of Importance to a 5 Year Old like the Jonas Brothers and what kind of backpacks her friends have.

After a few false starts, she decided she was ready to go. (Brace yourself, Mom. Smile. Tell her she’s a big girl. Tell her she’ll be fine.)

She got out of the car. She took a few steps, stopped, and turned around to see if I was still there. She took a few more quick steps, got a little further away, found some friends to walk with, and off she went in a Big Girl moment.

Then she stopped again. I waved her on, mouthing the words “Its okay, baby, go ahead” to her, thankful she was too far away to see me crying.

She hid behind a tree, peeking out to see if I was still there. I waited in the parking lot, planning to stay until I knew for sure that she was safe and happy in her classroom. I waited…and waited….and then I saw this:

That’s my baby. Inching out from behind the tree like a baseball player trying to steal third base.

She stood there for what felt like a half hour but was really only about two minutes.

I tried waving her on again but instead of taking a few brave steps towards the school, she ran towards the car. I wiped my eyes before she got to my window so I could tell her again that it really is going to be ok and I gave her a kiss and sent her back on her way.

She managed to make it back to that tree again, dragging her feet and her Hannah Montana backpack. Finally, some sweet little boy, probably a 5th grader, recognized her and said hi, told his chattering group of 5th grade friends to hold on, took her under his proverbial wing and walked her the rest of the way.

Whispering to myself “It’ll be okay…”, I pulled out of the parking lot and drove away.