I’ve taken the slow lane every step of the way with my sweet baby boy. I haven’t pushed, I haven’t set expectations, and I haven’t worried about what other people were thinking or doing.
Not even for one little second.
I never once second-guessed my choice to hold him out of preschool, to give him two years instead of three. He wasn’t ready. He didn’t need it. I didn’t bother to explain myself to the people who seemed genuinely shocked by my decision.
It was my decision, after all. I am his mommy, and I know him better than anyone.
I didn’t push endless classes or enroll him in tot sport leagues. He enjoyed his gym class, he loved story time at the library, and the local music class always resulted in cheers and smiles.
But he would much rather walk up to the fire station to help the fire fighters wash the trucks on a Monday morning than attend a toddler class. He preferred long walks around town, collecting leaves and rocks while spotting trucks and cars along the way.
He enjoyed bagels at Panera and trips to the carwash. He enjoyed cool mornings at the beach and playing in the sandbox at the park.
He knew what he liked, and I let him enjoy those things. Because being little is fun, but being little is also short-lived.
So I’ve taken the slow lane in an attempt to enjoy every little bit of little along the way. And you know what? It worked…