The High School Graduation

Last night, Baby Boy graduated from high school. I’m not sure how that’s possible considering I just brought him home from the hospital and I’m only 28 years old. His cute little high-pitched giggles are now deep laughs and he towers many inches above me when he looks down into my face to talk to me. Weirdly I didn’t cry. I had fully expected to, even planned on it, really. I had tissues. I went light on the mascara so I wouldn’t alarm anyone with my smears. Instead I just felt proud. And super grateful that the venue had suitable air conditioning, and nobody was coughing aggressively around me. 

Perhaps I am saving my tears for the day we drop him off at school this fall. Will it be like the first time I left him at camp, and I couldn’t understand why I was leaving my 8-year-old in another state? Or, will I surprise myself and not cry then, either? I’m not holding my breath. In one way, I will know it is where he is supposed to be and I will be happy, but in another way, he really still is that adorable little boy with the long, unfair eyelashes, and the bouncing curls, and the noshable neck rolls. 

I’m sure to cry at some point. Perhaps it will only be the day I pay the tuition bills. I know for certain the tears will be flowing then.