My youngest,

They say there is something special about the oldest child. Not that they are loved anymore than the others, but after all, they turn you into a parent. Your sister Emily did just that. So many first with her; first labor pains, first steps, first words, first day of kindergarten, first sport game, first broken heart, and the list could go on and on and on. Travis, being the first boy, let me enjoy all the “boy” firsts. The first BB gun, Power Rangers, and a different kind of potty training. Unfortunately being the youngest of three, you were always last. Last to loose teeth, last to ride without training wheels, last to get your driver’s license, and last to graduate high school. I had already experienced most first motherhood moments with your siblings. But there is something you get to be first at; catapulting me into a new chapter in my life.

Changes Ahead

In four short days you will walk across the stage to receive your high school diploma.  When the other two graduated, I had no tears. I felt excitement for their upcoming adventures. You, my last born, will be different. When you move your tassel from right to left, the role that I have played since your sister began kindergarten will cease. Through the past nineteen years, I have always had a child in school. There were field trips, class parties, folders to sign, homework, spend the night parties, picture days, projects. and more. I realize my role as mom isn’t over, but it will be different.

For the most part, I usually know where you are and who you are with. I know what you are doing and how you are. But as you enter this next phase, I may not always be privy to this information. You will begin living your life more independently. I am aware of this because I have already experienced it twice. The difference with them was, I still had you to fill my maternal itch while they were away.

They Saved the Best for Last

So just as Emily’s arrival changed my life twenty-four years ago, so does your departure from high school. Don’t be surprised when the lady who never cries, has a hard time helping you tie your tie. When you walk out the door Friday night saying your standard, “Well, gotta go” line as you leave the house, those words will have a greater magnitude. You are my baby and the last to go. Sometimes I watch you sleep, and I still see you little. If I could push the pause button of life I would. But I know you are eager to move ahead. So walk proudly my son Tucker. As you cross the stage, my eyes may water a bit. But I will smile knowing what your witty mind will be thinking about being the youngest…”They saved the best for last.”

—-Donna