Spring is officially here, and summer is just around the corner. As my youngest gets ready to turn three in May, we’re gearing up to potty train, say goodbye to the crib, and not be trapped in nap jail for the first time in seven years. I have mixed emotions about these transitions, but I am looking forward to our first “big kid summer” and the freedoms it will allow us.
I run a tight ship at our house because routines and schedules work well for our family, and letting go of these routines in the summer has traditionally been challenging for me. I’ll never forget the first summer that felt like such a divergence from our daily norms, and I didn’t love it. I delivered our third baby in early May, and my boys’ school let out three weeks later. I had grown accustomed to my alone time when the boys went to preschool, and the thought of a blank canvas every day for three months with two toddlers and a new baby on the scene was enough to induce some panicky feelings. Like all parents do, we survived with the help of a water table, daily popsicle breaks, an amazing middle school helper, and lots of Blippi (so glad we’ve moved on from that)! It was a simple summer, and while I don’t miss that season, plenty of moments stopped me in my tracks; I was simultaneously exhausted and content with our little life.
We’re now three years out from the summer of Blippi and popsicles. I’m not newly postpartum, and the water table will be replaced in time with an actual pool (major upgrade). There will be some camps and activities, but also a lot of open days to explore parks, host play dates, venture to the zoo, or take spontaneous trips for ice cream. With my oldest in school full time and my middle heading off to kindergarten in the fall, a chance for all of us to chill out (mainly me) from the routines, bedtimes, and 7 a.m. bus pick up will be a welcome change. I loved my babies, but in full transparency, I enjoy kids a lot more, and I’m ready for a summer to embrace life as a family with three big kids.
So much of motherhood feels like whiplash. You feel suffocated but miss them when you’re not with them. You feel bone tired but energized by their zest for life. You feel terrified for the ways in which the world may knock them down, but proud of them for their continued bravery in showing up. I don’t wish to go back to three years ago, but I also don’t want to forget their high little voices, their naked bottoms as they ran through the sprinkler, and their pure delight at a cheap freezer popsicle. This summer will be filled with adventures big and small, a chance to try new things, and a little more independence for them, and letting go for me. I’m ready for it–big kid summer here we come!
