BUCKING THE SYSTEM: FOUR YEARS OF MOTHERHOOD MAKE YOU FEEL LIKE AN EXPERT

Jerry announced to me with much authority Friday that he was attending his last day of school.

This was, of course, news to me, considering there is no summer vacation from preschool.

After some probing, I learned that Jerry was happily anticipating his birthday tomorrow and mistakenly thought that he would begin kindergarten on Monday.

The confusion was understandable, since we've been telling him that after his birthday he'd be ready for "big kid's school." In fact, we've harped on the subject in recent months in mostly vain efforts to urge improved "big boy" behavior and satisfy his need to know how a bunch of letters grouped together -- with or without vowels -- make words.

Ever tried to explain a parental misstatement to a 5-year-old? It's not easy. I finally dropped my head, said "Mommy's sorry," and left it at that.

Now, THAT he understood. He even patted my arm and told me it was OK.

It was just the latest bit of evidence that my baby is not a baby anymore.

It's been a long time since Jerry cried when we didn't bring him a toy from the store, and he willingly drinks water when I tell him Kool-Aid and juice aren't an option.

And it's been forever since he wet the bed or himself, for that matter.

Jerry's gained enough maturity that I let him walk his younger brother into day care each morning, and he's even allowed to occasionally drink his beverages out of a real glass (as opposed to the plastic cups that I bought specifically for their shatter-proofness).

I knew he was coming of age last Christmas when one of the gifts he requested from Santa Claus was a necktie.

My family laughed, thinking he liked the way his Pawpaw and daddy looked at my college graduation several weeks earlier. We assumed that the novelty would soon wear off.

It didn't, and in April Jerry asked that his Easter outfit be a suit this year.

What 4-year-olds want to wear a suit?

As it turned out, Jerry did, and he looked good in it. He looked even better when he donned a tuxedo for a stint as a train bearer in a friend's wedding last week.

I think I've handled Jerry's rapid transition from preschooler to grade-schooler pretty well, considering he's my first born and so much like me. Of course, I've had a longer adjustment period than most moms because of the baby teeth, or rather, the lack of them.

My son started losing his baby teeth last fall, a fact which sent me scrambling for how-to books and resulted in a late-night, emergency call to a co-worker's wife who happens to be a dentist.

After she sleepily assured me there was probably nothing unnatural about my 4-year old losing his teeth and agreed to see him the next day just to soothe my feelings, I realized I had to get a grip.

I told myself that this boy who has looked at me through those old eyes of his for the past four-odd years won't remain a child forever, and I needed to start easing up on the mommy death grip before I smothered him to death.

I kissed him that night as I straightened the covers on his bed, and very hesitantly, I started letting go. Nine months later, I'm not even tearing up as I write about Jerry's birthday.

Maybe it's the thrill I have in knowing somebody else can teach him how letters make words, or maybe it's my elation in knowing child-care costs will greatly decrease when school begins this fall.

More likely, it's a combination of those things, along with the knowledge that the child I had when I knew absolutely nothing about babies is making me look like an expert on the subject.

Anybody have a tissue?

Tamara Zellars Buck is a staff writer for the Southeast Missourian.