Is that the baby?

It's official Jess is enrolled in preschool.  Jess and I walked across the street the other day and turned in the first of many packets of forms we will turn in on her road to scholastic success.  I wanted to walk in the parking lot and Jess wanted to run, which actually seemed fairly symbolic of how I was feeling.  She proceeded to fall and part of me wanted to scoop her up and say, "See you're not ready yet. Come home with Mommy".  But truth be told she is ready.  I have watched her change so much within the last six months its mind boggling.  I was just telling Rick the other day how I was watching her in her little gym class sing to the songs, do the hand movements, and just generally blossom out of toddlerhood into preschoolness.  Hopefully no English teachers will ever read my blog or they will pull my degree back for my questionable made up words.  You get the idea...she's growing up.

I happened on this great article the other day about how raising four kids is easier than one, which I do actually agree with.  Albeit three in my case.  The end of the article gave a great analogy of kids being like balloons just floating up and passing by us and giving a quick bump as they go.  That really spoke to me.  My three girls are in such a rush to get big and move onward and upward and here I am with my feet planted on the ground trying to figure out how I can hold on to their strings just a little longer.

The next six months are going to be big ones for Jess.  Her vocabulary is getting bigger every week.  My latest favorite quote, "you're going to make me cry Momma"  just never stops being cute.  She jumping and getting air.  Plus spending all her waking time chasing her sisters and learning from them.  Which, as we know, can be good and bad.  Luckily I couldn't ask for better mentors (for the most part).

So once again, I find myself in that same spot of loving the every growing person my girl is turning into and wanting to scream at the world to slow down.  I'm holding onto that balloon string as tight as I can.  There's a little give, and each day I convince myself I should let it out a little more.  Just don't ask me to untie it from my wrist.  I'm not ready to watch it float up so high I can't see.  That goes for all three.