I don't know why they want her so bad anyway

I was supposed to register Kathryn for kindergarten. I was supposed to go up to the school, all documents in hand, stand there with all those other mothers, some crying, some cheering, and sign up my baby, my last, for kindergarten.

Except...

They need a copy of her birth certificate. Apparently the child, present in flesh and blood, is not good enough. Apparently, neither is my word, even though I can attest to the fact that she was indeed born. I know, I was there. And it hurt like hell.

Which really, it's all good. In untypical fashion I actually called ahead to let the registrar know that I did not have her birth certificate. Apparently the US Postal Department is feeling somewhat sentimental over that envelope and not ready to pass it on yet. And I'll just say that the doctor's office really isn't ready to let go of a copy of her shot record either. Nor is my file cabinet forthcoming with an electric bill.

No. None of these required documents fell easily into my hands so that I could traipse on up to the school and register my baby, my last, for kindergarten. So now I get to go and make a private appointment to sign her up. Since I'm not going to cry, it doesn't matter if a schoolful of mothers see me or not.

I mean, really, I'm not procrastinating about registering my last, my baby, for kindergarten. Because I'm really not going to miss her at all:



Not any of her silly stories. Her crazy faces. Her belly laugh. Her sweet snuggles. Not gonna miss it.

So registering, not putting it off. And definitely not crying.

At least not in public.