Ben and Karina start Kindergarten tomorrow, and in the immortal words of Forrest Gump, “that’s all I have to say about that.”
Well, except that I am going to say more about that.
In one of those weird circle-of-life kinds of things, we saw a family today while we were out to lunch: a mom, a dad, a little girl about two years old, and infant twins. The mom filled bottles and tried to keep the toddler busy while the dad juggled all their trays. Then the parents ate one-handed, with a baby in the other. If they ate at all, that is – the babies were hungry, so they might not have had the chance.
I remember those days.
“It gets better,” we told them as we left.
“When?” he asked. “When does it get better?”
(I remember that, too. There’s no way to believe the person telling you it’s better. Sure, it’s better for them. Whoop-dee-do.)
“A little every day,” I told him.
And myself, because if I hadn’t met them today, I would’ve spent even more time than I already have wishing for my babies back instead of rejoicing over who they’ve become.
My new improved attitude of rejoicing, however, does not mean that I won’t be crying all the way to work tomorrow.