Your Kid Learning How to Read is Actually the Worst
Remember, back when you were pregnant with your first baby, and you spent so much time imagining your baby’s “firsts.” You know, they first time they smile, the first time they roll over, their first steps, saying their first words, etc. And then, once those milestones actually start happening, you realize that all of this (well, the smiling thing is pretty great) is the WORST. Once they can roll over, you can’t put them on furniture anymore. Take my word for it, they WILL roll off the couch (#momguilt). And those first steps! I remember being so excited when my son started walking. But I soon realized that:
- He could move REALLY fast all of a sudden. Like, lose him in a store fast.
- He could CARRY STUFF. Like his toys that he dropped all over the house (goodby clean house). And my expensive shoes that he THREW IN THE TRASH. You’re going to want to buy a few of these when you’re baby proofing; way more useful than those kitchen cabinet locks.
After walking comes talking. I remember being excited about this milestone too. But then my kids started talking. And it’s been MANY years now, and they still haven’t.stopped.talking. Dear Lord, I miss car rides without the singing of every song they’ve ever heard, the narration of everything they see, feel, or think, and the constant bickering at each other.
I’ve got a son in kindergarten this year. Heading into kindergarten, he could read his name. That was it. By October , he could read all.the.things. My husband and I can’t even SPELL around him anymore, because he can figure out what we’re saying (“I’m exhausted. Let’s just get P-I-Z-Z-A for dinner.” “Pizza? Pizza! Yes! We’re having pizza for dinner!”). Game changer, people.
In all seriousness, these milestones mostly make me sad because every one that they hit means my kids are just one step closer to not needing me anymore; to being out there, in the world, on their own. And while there is excitement and joy in all the milestones, they’re outlined with a little sadness, a little loss. (And obviously how I deal with sadness is humor).
It’s hard to let go. It’s hard to see them becoming independent. It’s crazy sending my son off to kindergarten all day and not really knowing what he does there or what he’s like in the classroom. (My son, apparently, is literally a different person when he’s not around me; just ask my friend Lori who was at an event with me when we ran into one of his teachers. She was gushing about how sweet he is, and kind, and how he gives her a big hug everyday. And both of us were like, “Are you sure you’re talking about MY kid?”) All this to say, I guess I’m on the right track.
But if we could go back to when he WASN’T reading, that’d be great…
