Preschool.

(Mike took video as we were walking Quinn in on Tuesday. I may have had him stop at one point because tears snuck up on me as soon as we walked through the doors. Also, preschool directors should never say, Your mama is going to hug you extra tight because it's your first day of school! That may have triggered a waterfall.)

So, I've cut West down to nursing just twice a day (the boy loves whole milk, and we're taking a little getaway next week...), and Quinn started preschool on Tuesday, which means that I'm barely keeping it together over here. I seriously can't handle it all. My baby is all of a sudden showing signs of toddlerhood (opinions!!) and then there's Quinn. He's 97% potty trained (the 3% is a challenge), and the other day while watching one of his videos on Vimeo he said, Mom! That was a good movie. I mean, hello validation. It's nice to meet you.

I had a pit in my stomach the few days before Quinn's first day of preschool, and it hasn't quite subsided. It's that back to school feeling that I'm sure I always had growing up, and will continue to have each fall. It's the uncertainty of it all, the newness, the discomfort of the unknown - it all just kind of gnaws at my stomach and makes me all sorts of nostalgic and emotional. 

I said it on Instagram, and I'll say it again - It's not the going that is hard for me. Quinn has been asking to play with friends for weeks, and his brain is a sponge. Socially and creatively, he really needs it, and I know it will be fantastic for him. I know he'll love school, and I know it will be so good for all of us. 

The hard part is thinking about the beginning, and all of the in-betweens. I remember looking out over the New York City skyline in the middle of the night from our room at Roosevelt Hospital and being aware that this little human being was entirely dependant on me. We took him home to our tiny little apartment and spent the next few months trying to figure things out (with a lot of missteps along the way). I spent that winter carrying him around in a little bear suit, and he laughed and laughed in the swings at Carl Schurz park that spring. We had endless sleepless nights, and numerous airplane flights that I thought would never end. I remember looking at him sitting in the grass in our front yard in Texas the afternoon we closed on house thinking, What have we done? There was meeting his new brother for the first time (What's that?!), seeing him kayak so bravely at Priest Lake, hearing new expressions every day, potty training, and undies (!!). He has had so much fiery passion, spirit and personality since the day that he was born and I love him so much for that. 

So that's why it's hard. The in-betweens, the being lost in the daily routine of life and popping my head up just enough to see how quickly it all has zoomed by, and wanting desperately for it all to slow down just a tiny bit.

West and I had a quiet day on Tuesday. He napped in the morning after we got home and I barely knew what to do with myself. I counted the minutes until I got to pick Quinn up, and when I did, he ran towards me with a smile on his face. 

Mom, it's so good to see you!!

I got a giant hug, and he had obviously had a happy day. He still loves and needs me. I know I'll love the quiet time, and West will appreciate a little bit more of my attention. 

Everything will be okay. But time! The stretching, the passage, the looking back. It hurts just a tiny bit, but I'm fairly certain that's my heart growing.

(Lots of blurry photos.)