I miss him.

He's my baby.  He's my ninja-cowboy-police officer-getting-the-bad-guys baby.  Every day of the past couple years, he's made me smile with his creativity and laugh at his imagination. 

He's kept this house free of bandits and never before has a mother felt so safe. 

He's mixed that up with hugs and kisses, and never before has a mother felt so loved. 

A hundred times a day he says, "I like you, Mom."

But today, I sent him off to preschool.  He'll be going four hours a day, three times a week.  And that's a lot for Jack.  He really does like me.  Matthew has always left me pretty easily, happy to explore whatever adventures I couldn't be a part of.  Jack would rather stay right next to me, given the chance.  At the barber shop last week, when asked if he was going to school like his brothers, he said, "No.  I'm just going to stay home with my mommy."  But he was wrong.  Because there are many things to learn that I can't teach him, and next year, when he goes to kindergarten, he needs to be prepared.

But it's hard for me, because I was Jack.  I got hives when my mom went out of town.  I cried when we got babysitters.  So I know Jack's pain.  I feel what he feels. 

Today, when I dropped him off with his really great teacher, his soft, still-chubby hand held mine tightly. When it was his turn to go in, she told him to follow the purple footsteps and put his bucket away.  He held my hand so tight.  I went to let go and he looked up at me, with a look, part panic, but mostly bravery and said, "MOM!  I need a kiss!" 

So I smooched my baby and let his hand go.  And his teacher said, "Oh!  That wasn't so bad!"  And I replied, "Except for me."  And I ran out before anyone saw my tears.

And now I sit here, with no little ninja to protect me, to hug me, to make me laugh. 
And I miss him. 

I love you, Jack-Jack.