Tomorrow Will Be Different

Today, he built Lego sets and ate chocolate chip pancakes bigger than his head, but tomorrow will be different. Today, we lounged around, not a worry in the world, but tomorrow will be different. Today, we traveled and talked and rode in the car for hours, but tomorrow will be different.

Hullabaloo

Tomorrow he’ll enter a new world, a new season, and a new time. Tomorrow, he won’t be just my sweet little boy; he’ll be a big kindergartener in a new place. Tomorrow, he’ll settle into a new routine, but it won’t be ours. It’ll be his–on his own. He’ll listen, learn, lead, and love. He’ll become more of his own person. He’ll continue to make us proud.

So, tonight, when he says, “Just sleep with me for a little bit,” I will when I usually don’t. Because tomorrow will be different.

And, tonight, when he squeezes my hand and says that he loves me more, I won’t dispute it. Because tomorrow will be different.

Tonight, when I peek in for that last little look before I go to bed, tears will stream down my face. Because tomorrow will be different.

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