A family divided. No wait. I mean multiplied.
This morning was my daughter's first day of kindergarten. Pink dress, purple shoes, hello kitty everywhere else and a few remaining strands of tinsel tied into her hair, my little chicky was READY. She even came to school with her own entourage: her big 3rd grader brother, her daddy, his girlfriend, me, and my boyfriend. 4 adults took her to her classroom. She got hugs, hugs, hugs and more hugs.
Mags has been in the same building with me for her whole life. Working for gDiapers allowed me the extreme privilege to enjoy a long maternity leave, and a return to an environment where she could come to work with me. First it would be in a sling, tucked in against my chest while I typed out emails. Then it would be in a bouncy chair hung up in the doorway, where she would greet Dawn and Stephanie as they passed her everyday on the way to the finance office where they, I assumed, rolled in cash and sipped on vodka slushies. Then it would be in a house, just next door to our office, where she was cared for by the most wonderful of teachers in a tight-knit and tiny daycare we called The Village. And I would walk next door to nurse her, and her brother was there with her all day, every day. And early on they developed beautiful friendships. Then it would be in an onsite childcare center that encircled our new office. Our office and the childcare center were designed to intertwine, and so everyday I would drop off Mags, and for a while her big brother, too. And I could go downstairs and have lunch, and watch them on the playground outside (though I’d do so discreetly so as not to disturb their play, like prairie dogs), and the same wonderful teachers that they’d had at The Village would be there, a continuum of the friendships that had already been made. She was the first brand new baby at our childcare center's location. And now she’s graduated. And she's got a backpack. And it has things in it that aren't just Big Baby and stuffed cats.
No longer in the same building. 5 miles from work. But just a few blocks from home. I thought this phase would feel like a ripping off of an arm. But other phases have been happening simultaneously as this one, and instead of a grisly ripping off of an arm, I'm seeing other arms come into this scenario. 8 arms that will hug and carry her, 8 hands that will hold and high five hers. She has an octopus.
A new phase of life. When you pay attention, it's like watching a cocoon be constructed, then destroyed, and something wholly new emerge from within.
|my apologies to big baby. that abomination of a doll looks nothing like her.|