Five

In two weeks, Carter will be five years old. Five. And I realize that I'm one of maybe three people on the planet who find this statement amazing and astounding, impossible and incredible, but such is a mother's privilege.

So, fair warning: there may be much navel-gazing and teeth-gnashing and hand-wringing as the big day draws near.

Oh, what? You think that just because NaBloPoMo is drawing to an unceremonious close, I'll allow the blog to fall back into disrepair and neglect?

Well, it's possible, yes, and at the moment, marginally tempting: this nightly game of Beat the Clock feels like a bit of a grind on Day 30. But no: it's been good for me, on several levels, to chronicle current events and ponderings.

Sleep, however, it is also good for me, so I may take five on the blogging gig this weekend and attempt to reclaim a few zzz's.

Because mercy, I am tired. And I suspect my almost-birthday-boy is, too, because today was his first-ever five-day week of school.

When Carter started preschool last year, he made the large leap from two days to three. All went well. So well that, by the middle of the year, he'd started making noise about attending school five! whole! days! like some of his friends did.

I wasn't ready, and I wasn't convinced that he was, so we put the conversation on the table. And there it sat, gathering dust and becoming irretrievably commingled with the stacks of catalogs and mailers that are pushed aside to be read and processed, which never happens.

But this week, Carter took it upon himself to clear the table.

After school on Monday, he came home with woeful tales of Things He Had Missed while we were criscrossing Texas, Louisiana, Mississippi and Alabama. His class Thanksgiving Feast, for starters. Storytime. The Hundred Board. Snacks.

I listened and commiserated and gently reminded him of all the fun things we'd been able to see and do while we were away. Nanny's party. Our family's Thanksgiving Feast. The space museum. Playtime with cousins. Lots and lots and lots of television.

Yeah: not so much. So at bedtime, he told Trey that he really wished he could go to school every day. FIVE days.

And so it was that Carter went to school Monday through Wednesday, as usual, then yesterday, and yet again today. When he woke up this morning and realized it was a school day, he giggled maniacally and got to work, prepping for the day.

Naturally, I'm over-the-moon thrilled that he's so enthusiastic about school in general, and this school in particular. And I'm bursting with pride to see him growing up so well and so eager to do, see, learn more, more, more.

But I'll confess: my warm and fuzzies are tinged with melancholy. I'll miss our pancake mornings. I'll miss our intermittent Friday playdates. I'll miss having two days a week with no real obligations, two days when the four of us could hang out in our jammies if we pleased.

Oh, can I just say it? I miss my baby boy. I know, I know: he'll always be my baby. When he's five, twenty-five, thirty-five, forty.

But it's not the same as it was, and it never will be again, and while I know that's exactly the way it's supposed to be, it still stings just a little.

And he doesn't get this at all, nor should he, but I know that there will probably be a time in his life when he chafes against the demand of going to school five days a week, and working five days a week. At least.

So I want to remember this time, this day, when five days was a treat, a privilege, a gift so thrilling that he giggled before he even got out of bed.