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Last night, I laid out a shirt with a funky citrus fruit print and a pair of bright orange shorts on my son’s dresser. It’s not the outfit I would have chosen, but my oldest son saw it on the rack and insisted that it was the coolest shirt ever. How could I argue with that?

I took his brand-new shoes out of their box and located a clean pair of socks. I put clean undies and a folded towel on his bathroom counter, intending to remind him that, since puberty is knocking on the door, a daily shower is now a must.

I went to the kitchen, packed his lunchbox, double-checked that all his school supplies were in his backpack, propranolol general anxiety disorder and turned off the lights.

Then I went to my room and quietly shed just a few tears. You see, this morning I sent my oldest child to his last first day of elementary school, and I was just not ready.

It feels like I literally just took a photo of his toothless grin and captioned it, “First day of kindergarten!” Somehow, in the blink of an eye, that smiling baby has grown into a barely smirking, full-sized fifth grader with a head full of knowledge and feet bigger than mine.

How did that happen?

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