There are moments in motherhood that sneak up on you, no matter how much you think you’re ready. Today was one of those days for me. I sent my last baby, Kameron, off to Pre-K.

We’ve done the first-day routine before. Emerson is practically a teenager now, Ashton is already settled into elementary school and I’ve packed lunches, checked supply lists and snapped those front-porch photos more times than I can count. But this morning was different. Zipping up Kameron’s tiny backpack and watching her walk toward that classroom door felt like closing the final chapter of a season I’m not quite ready to let go of.

For over a decade, there’s always been a “baby” at home. Someone to watch cartoons with, someone who followed me from room to room, someone who needed snacks cut into little pieces and their shoes put on the right feet. Suddenly, the house feels a little too quiet. The mess of dolls and crayons left behind looks less like clutter and more like a memory of days I can’t get back.

Kameron, of course, was fearless. Her oversized backpack practically swallowed her whole, but she strutted in like she owned the place. She barely looked back… and while I love that confidence, it also tugged at my heart. I lingered at the door just a little too long, taking in the picture of her at that tiny desk, crayons in hand, ready for her next adventure.

The thing about milestones is they hold two emotions at once. Pride for what lies ahead and grief for what’s behind. I’m so proud of all three of my girls for growing into their own people. But I’ll admit, a part of me misses the days when they were all piled on the couch in matching pajamas or when I was the one teaching ABCs at home.

So yes, I cried on the drive home, but also smiled, because sending your last baby off to Pre-K isn’t just the end of one chapter. It’s the beginning of another. For Kameron. For Kameron and maybe even for me.

(Paige Gurgainers is a mom of three girls, digital journalist for Webster Parish Journal.)