I’ve been putting off drafting Bowie’s fifth birthday blog post for some time now, knowing full well it will make me cry. No matter how I try to frame it–I’m sad you’re turning 5, I’m happy you’re turning 5, I’m indifferent you’re turning 5–I’m going to cry.



And it’s all happening very soon.

This past weekend, we bought Bowie a new bed. He was still sleeping in his toddler bed, which was just his crib turned into a toddler bed. So, we got him a proper bed for a kid. Because he’s not a toddler anymore, he’s a kid. (Sniff.)

In the spirit of things, we also got him a booster seat for the car, and gave Ferris the car seat. Ferris was of course still in the infant seat, the kind that snaps into the stroller. The stroller that, devastatingly enough, Ferris is big enough to ride in sans infant car seat. So, he’s in the big seat now. And Bowie is in a booster. The kind where he wears the regular car seat belt.


I’m hoping these small graduations are going to somehow prepare me for the upcoming big GRADUATION.

Though I know I will be a puddle of tears on that fateful day. I have cried at all of the preschool graduations that my son was not a participant in. Our preschool is a coop, so we really get to know the kids, and watching them all graduate and move on is just too much. So, when it’s my own kid…


Parenting is hard. So hard. But by far the hardest part about it is watching them grow so fast right before your eyes. You have a baby, then you blink and you have a Kindergartner.

It is also really fun to watch them blossom and change and become the little individuals they are inside. And you watch them do something amazing, like write their own name or play the drums or apologize without being asked to and you’re dumbfounded: I made that.

So when I’m scrubbing peanut butter out of the couch, or picking up the same toys for the 100th time, or nursing the baby for the 4th time in one night, I keep reminding myself: this will all be over someday. It will all be a distant, blurry memory. But I’ll miss it.

The first night as a teenager that they miss curfew. I’ll be wide awake, waiting to hear them come in. And I’ll miss holding that soft head against my cheek at 3 a.m. I’ll miss hearing them sing preschool songs with their tiny voice. I’ll even miss potty training. Yes, even that.

So, as we settle into May here at the Wankel homestead, Bowie’s last month as a preschooler, I am just reminding everyone to slow down and enjoy this. They’re only little once. And for such a short time.


2 comments on “Prologue

  1. One of the benefits of being an older mom — if I’d done this when I was young, 18 years would have felt like an eternity. But I know exactly how fast 18 years whips by, I can understand how fleeting this will all feel. I’ll still be gobsmacked by it, I’m sure.

  2. It’s so, so strange. Ezra and Bowie are the same age and as I think about getting Ezra a big boy bed (I can probably stop calling it that…) this summer and sending him to kindergarten in the fall, it all kind of cuts my heart a little bit. Both things are proving harder for me than when he started walking or turned 1.

    Hard yet glorious stuff.

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *