I should have known it was coming.
It all started a few weeks ago, when I was scrolling through the shows recorded on our DVR. My oldest son stood next to me and watched as I moved down the list. “Yes! That! Dino Dan!” he cried.
“How did you know that said Dino Dan?” I asked.
“Because, Mommy. It says Dino Dan.”
Seriously? Because I am not ready for this.
Then it got worse.
Last week, we went to the library. The oldest had been working on sounding out words at home during our “school” time, so I asked the librarian if she could recommend some beginning reader books. Something with lots of three-letter words and short vowel sounds. She led us over to the BOB books, although she warned that they could hardly keep them on the shelves, due to the high demand for them. We were in luck; the very first BOB book was in. We checked it out and brought it home (along with my boys’ 25 other library selections).
He wanted to start reading “his book” immediately, so we sat down and opened up a little book called Mat. My son patiently sounded out the words, one by one. Then we read it again. Well, he read it again. By himself.
And I cried.
One on hand, I am immensely proud of my little man. He loves reading, and he gets so darn excited about books, and learning new things. I love that. As a former teacher and his mom, I am thrilled that my son thinks learning is fun. That’s AWESOME.
On the other hand…I am devastated. Why is he growing up so fast? Reading already? He’s not even in kindergarten yet. I don’t know if I can handle this.
Yep, that’s me. The mom who is traumatized by the fact that her child is reading.
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