My older daughter starts sixth grade this year. As I'm filling out her paperwork, I keep thinking of when she started kindergarten. How she held my hand so tight as we rode the bus together, and smiled at me with her twinkly blue eyes sparkling. As I dropped her off for her "Student Only" orientation, she was nervous the whole ride there, and I reassured her by saying things like "Every sixth-grader there will be in the same boat as you- you all have something in common; you are ALL new at this!" and "Just be yourself and have fun. Because you are amazing, and your friends love you." As soon as we pulled up to the school, her friends are calling her name and waving excitedly. "Bye, Mom!" she says, and hops out of the car before I can mutter "Good luck, I love you!" This girl has got this.
As I drive away, my eyes fill with tears as I remember her first bus ride home from Kindergarten. She had fallen asleep, missed her stop and the bus driver took her along on her next route, not realizing my little Beana was curled up in a bus seat. I chased the bus across town in a panic, so sure that she would be terrified, traumatized, I was so worried about her. She was bouncing in the bus driver's lap when I got there, jumped into my arms and said, "I was so tired from all the fun I had at school!" This girl has got this.
I think about all the times my baby girl has reminded me of myself, sometimes to the point of exasperation. Hug me, but only when I want you to. Hold my hand, but only if I grab yours first. Kind of like a cat, affectionate on her own terms, but you'd better not miss the opportunities to hug her up when she wants them. She is her own person and makes that known to all of us. I accidentally smoothed her hair as she sat in front of me at 6th Grade Homeroom Orientation, and she whipped around and gave me a glare. Sorry, baby girl, I forgot, your friends are watching, and you're all grown-up now.
As we stand by her locker, and she gets her combination lock on the first try, I blink back tears. She's got this. I'm doing right by her. She doesn't need me every step of the way. She knows she can figure it out and make things work the way she wants them to. Fiercely independent, sensitive, quick-tempered, quicker to laugh...and so affectionate and talkative. Yep, that's my girl, and yet, she's not mine. I'm only blessed to be her mother. She is her own growing woman, and of that, I am so proud.
As we walk away from the seemingly huge middle school she'll be attending in a few days, she wraps her strong little arms around my waist and says, "I love you lida meme. Thanks for helping me today." I hug her back and say, "I didn't do anything but watch you do it. You got this, baby girl. Thanks for letting me come along."
