I just read this post by Kira, and, in a very small way, I could relate.
Asher's preschool has a tradition. Once a week they have chapel, and during chapel they sing happy birthday to everyone who had a birthday that week. Asher's birthday is Sunday, but since this is the last week before the holidays, they sang to him yesterday. Parents are invited to come to chapel, and each child gets to introduce his parents to the chapel.
The whole thing is kind of a big deal, especially if you're a little kid.
Yesterday morning I walked into chapel. I squeeze every drop out of the hours when Asher is at preschool and Silas is at Grandma's. Mostly I work, but if there is a cancelled appointment or some in-between time, I try to do all of those things that are interminable with small children (like going by the post office or buying groceries). All of that to say, I'd been rushing, of course - from an appointment to Target to his school - and when I walked in, I was mostly just relieved to have made it on time. I plopped down (there's no graceful way to move right now) in the last available seat and waited.
And when that room full of squirmy preschoolers started singing Jingle Bells, I burst into tears.
Jingle Bells, ya'll. Not Ave Maria. And I'm not a crier.
I'm not even sure why. I just kept thinking, he's a little boy now. Not a baby at all - a boy, with his own sense of humor and anxieties and friends and plans. The tiny tiny baby I rocked on Christmas Eve night, four years ago, less than a week old, is now singing Jingle Bells with his friends in chapel.
And we're just getting started.
Man, I'm a sap when I'm pregnant. Happy Friday all.