The Last of the Firsts

Adam's first day.

On my oldest's first day of school, I stood at the corner.  We were surrounded by a miniature hoard, small bodies dressed in new clothes, kicking rocks with nervous shoes. The bus arrived and the little ones marched on.  With a smile and wave, he was gone.

Other moms wiped their eyes and hurried to their minivans, a parade of Dodge and Ford, following the bus, anxious to see their babies arrive safely.

Me? I jumped in my own family van, but I detoured and went the other way, dropping Jacob at his preschool.  Sadie sat in the back, chattering away, waving at her brothers.  Number four sat miniscule inside me, sending waves of familiar morning sickness my way.
There was no time for tears.

Sadie's first day.
The one time in her life she was too busy to pose.

Six first times, each one a bit different, each with their own anxiety-ridden morning.  But, each time, I've returned to my home to care for the ones left behind--be it nursing babies or screaming toddlers.  I never cried, hard-hearted woman that I am. I was happy to have them off to learn new things from someone who, hopefully, had more energy.

Hunter's first day.

Yesterday was the seventh 'first'.  Yesterday was different.  Noah dressed in his new Sonic shirt with  his Buzz backpack behind him. I watched him lift his little legs up the tall steps, he turned and waved.  The doors closed with a whoosh, and off he went to his next grand adventure.

And, I walked home. To an empty house. No babies to feed or diapers to change.  No one to care for but myself.

Many friends have asked me, "What will you do with yourself when they're all gone all day?"  As if this is a huge puzzle.
Are you kidding me?
The possibilities are so endless. The list goes on and on. It makes me tired just thinking of all I have/need/want to do.

So, yesterday, I took a nap.