Tears for breakfast, anyone?

Okay. I admit it. I didn't think it through.

Here's what happened:

The 4 of us were sitting around the breakfast table yesterday morning. We got on to the topic of how school starts in a few days and I begin to sing about how happy I am. I'm happy that my kids are growing up. I'm happy  happy that they're going to have fun at school. I'm happy happy HAPPY that I will have so many hours to get things done during the day before they get home. [Here's where it becomes decidedly unhappy.] Before I can explain that I'm so happy because it means that I'll have more time to do fun stuff when the kids do come home, the little one bursts into full-on, gut-wrenching, hiccupping, can't-control-herself sobbing and throws herself into my arms. Non-plussed, I ask her what's wrong.
"I don't want to go to school all day! Bwaaaaaaaaahhhhh!!!!"
[Wait. It gets worse.]
"I want to stay with you! BWaaaaaaahhhhhhh!!!! "
[And worse.]
"Don't you want me to stay with you!?! Bwaaaahhhhhh! I can help you!"
[And then....]
I start crying too. There you have it ladies and gents. Tears for breakfast. Plenty to go around. The little one nearly inconsolable, and me, trying not to drown her. And it hits me like a wicked diaper: I don't have any more babies. And while this thought is pricking my eyeballs like so many killer cacti, my hugs and shushes have magically converted the tears on my breast to the occasional shuddering sob. In another minute, the little one is fully restored and can't wait to break in her new rolling Tinkerbell backpack with matching pencil case [gift from Nonna] and I have fully realized my mortality.
I wonder what I should make for lunch.