In a month, my daughter will celebrate her fifth birthday, and I find myself grappling with a sense of loss. I’ve experienced this milestone three times with my sons, yet the emotional weight feels just as heavy with her. Five is my least favorite age; it signifies a bittersweet farewell. This year brings the bittersweet transition as she prepares to leave for kindergarten. As my youngest, I know I will never have a baby at home again, and that realization breaks my heart.
I realize that my feelings may seem dramatic. Terms like “heartbreak” and “mourning” are intense, but they accurately reflect my emotions. Turning five marks the end of an era. That tiny baby I spent sleepless nights with, who I nursed for what felt like eternity, is now ready to spread her wings and venture out into the world. While I will always be her mother, the complete reliance on me is fleeting, and it’s a tough pill to swallow.
I’ve seen this coming since I enrolled her in preschool. Those few half-days each week have prepared her in so many ways. She can wait her turn, manage her own plate, and even handle bathroom trips independently. She’s learned to write her name with pride and care—skills all geared towards her upcoming adventures in kindergarten.
I genuinely want her to flourish, and I cheer her on. I adore the artwork she brings home, proudly displaying her colorful creations. I could listen to her recite the Pledge of Allegiance repeatedly, her face lighting up in joy. But I must admit, I wish I could hold on to her four-year-old self just a bit longer. At four, she engages in meaningful conversations, sings along to her favorite songs, and still enjoys cozy afternoon movie marathons. As she cuddles close for a nap after a busy morning at Pre-K, I savor every moment of her remaining babyhood.
Lately, she’s developed the habit of sneaking into our bed during the night. I know I should guide her back to her own space, but I can’t bring myself to do it. This is my last opportunity to experience these snuggles. My oldest son, now nearly 13, certainly isn’t climbing into bed for hugs at 2 a.m. When I asked her why she comes to find me, she said, “Because I think about where you are and I miss you.” How could I not cherish that sentiment?
As she approaches five, her independence is blossoming. She demands privacy during bathroom breaks and insists on changing clothes alone. After a bath, she confidently brushes her own hair and heads straight to the toothbrush. Each morning, she takes charge of her outfit, expressing her preferences with vigor. Don’t even think about helping her zip up her coat—she’ll start over with determination if you do. It feels like just yesterday I was buckling her into her car seat, and now she does it with pride. How did time pass so quickly?
We’re nearing the era of homework sheets and packed lunches. Come fall, she’ll wear a uniform, with her only choices being a bow and shoes. Her cousin is already in kindergarten, and she’s eagerly looking forward to sharing that experience. I registered her for kindergarten last month, and I cried as I drove away from the school. She’s ready, but I’m still grappling with denial. Where has my baby gone? Why can’t time just slow down?
Yet, my desire to keep her four isn’t fair to her. She has an exciting world awaiting her. During our morning drives dropping her brothers off, she beams with joy at the playground she will soon explore. She waves at the teachers greeting students. I’d be remiss if I didn’t mention the added complexity of sending her to kindergarten in a post-COVID world, which only amplifies my sadness. But that’s the reality we face.
She is intelligent, beautiful, and full of potential. I know she’s going to achieve amazing things, and it all begins at five. If I know my daughter, she will embrace this new chapter with wonder. I look forward to attending her first Christmas program and proudly displaying her creations on our fridge. We will tackle homework together and master the challenges of being five. But until that final moment, I am savoring every bit of four. I’m making afternoon trips to Target and taking the occasional Tuesday off for cousin playdates. We’ll continue to wear our matching shirts, and I’ll make room for her in bed every night because childhood slips away all too quickly.
While I may never have a four-year-old again, I will have many more years filled with adventures as she grows. I feel privileged to be her mother. As they age, my children continue to enrich my life in ways I never anticipated. When the day arrives for my youngest to turn five, I will say goodbye to four, embrace the adventures of five, and be grateful for the journey ahead.
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Summary
The author reflects on the emotional struggle of letting go as her daughter approaches her fifth birthday, marking a significant transition into independence and school life. While embracing the joys and challenges of parenting, she acknowledges the bittersweet nature of watching her youngest child grow up.