"How are you feeling about tomorrow?"
He thought for a little bit and said,
"Actually, I'm a little bit angry."
"Angry? Why, honey?" I asked, surprised.
"Well, because sometimes I just like to stay home. I like to be with you guys," he said.
I smiled at him. "Are you feeling a little bit nervous about school, honey?"
His shoulders dropped as though surrendering, "Yes," he nodded, eyes downcast.
For all his confidence and sociability, Luca is still a five-year-old who worries about "all the hard work" he'll have to do at school. His words. I told him I was sure they'd take it easy on him for his first day, that tomorrow was meant to be fun.
It took him so long to fall asleep, his mind no doubt racing with thoughts of this impending adventure. And I feel the same way.
I remember so clearly him entering this world. Our world. The sound of his cry splitting the sterile air with life, that tiny, cherubic face, those little blue hands. Why are a newborn's hands always so blue?
It feels as though you have never loved until that moment. And you can hardly breathe with the weight of it.
And now there is a new weight, the weight of the unknown and he is wondering, and I am wondering, just how will he go? It's a familiar landscape but foreign, too, and I guess we will muddle through as we always have, he and I. In this family, we are the pioneers. I can feel how this can sit heavily on a firstborn's shoulders.
I need to make things lighter around here, shoulder the load for my big little guy for a while, let him focus on adjusting to this new reality.
And I need to freeze a fuckload of sandwiches.
Wish us luck.