When B the First went off to kindergarten, I had a lot of words about it.
B the Second started school this year. I have an equal amount of words for her departure from my nest, but they're all still stuck in my heart. Most days, I'm ok with two-thirds of my brood in someone else's care. Some days, I am not. Other days still, I wish all three of them were somewhere else for eight hours a day.
My small Ladybug is not so small anymore. At her 6-year checkup, the pediatrician said she falls in the 80th percentile for weight, and the 85th for height. She's a big girl now. A brave girl, a precious, sweet, heart-stealing girl.
She's the anchor of my days, more than anybody else is. She's solid where the rest of us are fluid. She's still when we buzz about. At the same checkup, the doctor watched B the Third whizz-bang around the room, then looked at B the Second sitting patiently, legs crossed at the ankle, back straight as a rod, and said, "She's the one who keeps you sane, isn't she?"
And now she's off beginning her life.
Full of courage and kindness and frosting.