Dear Jack

Dear Jack,

I cried while putting you to bed tonight. As we rocked in the chair, your little bundle of a body in its tight, red pajamas all cuddled up into my arms, I cried knowing that tomorrow you go to daycare and tomorrow I go to work. We will be going our separate ways for the first time since you were born, 21 months ago. Tonight was the last step on our path together and before us the road divides, a fork taking us down our individual journeys as two souls. I have been carrying us a long time and I have been so proud to be the one who has brought you this far. I have loved every aching moment of it, even when I felt alone, even when I felt afraid, even when I felt lost. You were with me all along and look... we're here.

I'm not afraid. I'm not worried about you, Jack, because I have done a good job in getting you here in the condition you're in. You're miraculous and brilliant and so totally equipped to meet your path. You are confident and compassionate and you light up every room that you are in. You bring your blanky to kids who are crying and you dance like a mofo when the music kicks in. You are a bright light, a light that I have fostered into brilliance, and I am not afraid.

But I am sad that this part of our journey is over. I am sad to see your littleness go away; lean, muscular legs now stand where chubby poofs used to be. Your fingers, once gasping and erratic, now form themselves easily around toys and tools as you maneuver your way through the day. And I am grieving the moments that I missed because I chose to be out of the now, out of the moment, worrying about some negative future fantasy that didn't even exist. I am ashamed of how I resisted your constant invitations to be present with you, in the moment, and instead became angry and called you a nuisance. You have been calling me forward into awakening and I have resisted you. I am sorry, Jack. Please forgive me.

I know you're not going away, and it's not like you're leaving for college tomorrow. But you are leaving my arms for eight hours a day to experience the world in your own way. This is where it begins...

I love you, Jackaroo. And I always will.

Mommy.