Preschool

I have to admit, I'm the one having a hard time sending my boy to preschool, not him. For months (well maybe it's even been a year now) my husband has been trying to convince me that our son needs preschool. "He'll love it. I loved it when I was his age". These are his convincing words. And yet, I'm still not convinced. For months he pushed me and pushed me until in a fit of uncontrolled tears, I finally admitted what I hadn't admitted out loud to anyone, "This is it for me! This is all the time I'm going to get with our kids. We're done and that's that. But I want to savor every second I get with them." The truth was out. I wanted to savor every moment with my children because all too soon, they will all be in school and my little clan will be growing up. That admission has been out for months now too and I've been slowly getting used to the idea.

Today, I made the big step of checking out the preschool that my hubby would like our son to go to for the rest of the school year. It was really good and I was excited that he would be learning and experiencing all the things that would be good for him. Then why the nagging still in the back of my head? I realized that not only will I be facing the reality of my children being old enough to be in school and having a few hours a day to myself, but then I have to really take responsibility for what that means in my life. I'm sure not until they are in all-day school, but sometime, I'm going to have to decide what I want to do with the rest of my life. I will still be fairly young when my kids are graduated from high school; let's just say I can easily put in 20 years before the retirement age. I know I may be getting ahead of myself because that's still years and years away. But I can't help thinking that I was limited in my child-bearing for a reason. And now I have to figure out what that is...and for some reason that scares me.