First Time

The late summer sun feels warm on my back. There is not a cloud in the sky. A kind, older lady stopped to ask if I was okay. It took me a moment to calm the queasy butterflies dancing in my stomach and heart before I could reply that I am fine. Thanks.

I offered a watery smile and let the tears pour, "I just took my daughter to pre-school for the first time." I warbled. She patted my shoulder and told me to go shopping and enjoy my baby who was babbling in the stroller in front of me.

I walked a few feet ahead after wishing her a good day and I had to sit on the cement bench. My lower half felt so numb. My whole body felt like I went through surgery. The clouds casted over top. My baby was looking at me with a quizzical look on her face. I wiped my eyes and nose, stood up and put one foot in front of the other with my cell phone clenched in my fist, in case the school called.

The Last Time
With the beat of the rain on the roof, the crowded room is dark and the screen on the TV is showing the pictures from the year. My youngest daughter is munching away on her goldfish crackers in her stroller.
Today my oldest daughter graduates from pre-school. Two years ago we entered this room for the first time. Her cries of "Mommy, don't leave!" still echo in my heart. I walked away that first day feeling like a bad mother. I couldn't stop crying for leaving her to start her school career.
The lights are back on as the commencement ceremony is about to begin. The room is silent. Then, applause erupts as each student walks across the room to the teacher holding their certificates. My heart stops.
I look at my beauty standing tall, waiting for her cue. The reality of her growing up into this amazing young lady shudders through me. To my surprise my tears are falling, my nose is sniffling. My hand holding the camera begins to shake.
She skips across the room, unlike the walking her classmates were doing. She sits down with her class smiling at the cameras. When the teachers release them, she runs at me with her cap slipping from her head. We gather our things as she says good bye to her friends.
The three of us cross the doorway onto the now sun- beamed sidewalk. I feel the familiar tears arrive again, yet they feel different.
The walk is filled with knowing my daughter is growing up well. I am so proud to be her mother.

You can find her on Twitter as @just_d_world or her personal blog. www.justdworld.wordpress.com