Tomorrow, they turn two and two weeks later my big boy will head off to kindergarten.
We walked last night through the spritzing rain and I held his hand with the always dry, cracking skin while my husband pushed the big wide stroller brimming with little brothers. I thought about the way he and I walked so much when the twins were little. We walked to survive, walked so we could, for one brief part of the day, face in the same direction, side-by-side. He who wanted to go-go-go and chatted me up like a friendly salesman and I, ever the introvert overwhelmed by the sea of humanity that filled our tiny bungalo.
I would push those boys along out in front of me and they sailed smooth like a boat on a glassy sea save for the hand of their brother resting on the stroller handle. That pressure, that hand, irked me, but he held on relentlessly, his hand like an umbilical cord holding us together, two castaways stranded on the island of twins.
And now I will walk him to school with his older sister and turn and walk home alone behind the double-wide, no hand to hold, no gentle pressure on the handle.
The other day, he said to me, casually, at lunch, "So, mama, how are you enjoying adulthood?"
I'm going to miss that boy.
This post is linked with Five Minute Friday. Click on the link to read more posts on the prompt "lonely."