On Parenting. . .

Sunday morning I loaded Meadow into her car seat and reached around her to buckle the straps around her torso.  Next, I reached to her side and grabbed the lower end of the straps to harness her lower half into the car seat.  As soon as my hand grabbed the buckle, Meadow snatched it out of my hand and insisted, I do it.  I released my grip on the harness and watched as Meadow slowly and carefully navigated the buckle into it’s correct spot.  When she heard the loud “click” of the buckle she looked up at me with her bright eyes and a wide smile and declared, I did it.

You did! I celebrated with her while kissing her on the forehead.  You’re such a big girl!

I closed Meadow’s door and climbed into the drivers seat to take the 25 minute drive to church.  Chad, Charlie, and Chanelle had gone up earlier so the drive was quieter than normal.  It was a welcome change.  Meadow and I made small talk, because, well, she’s two and small talk is all she does.

Are you ready to go to church, I asked her?
Uh-huh, she responded.
Charlie? she asked. 
Yes, Charlie will be there, I explained.
Nelsh? She asked about Chanelle.
Yes, she’s there, I told her.  They will be in class, though, I explained her. Do you want to go to class or stay with Mommy, I asked her. 

(In full disclosure, I was secretly hoping she would ask to stay with me.  Why? You ask.  Well, you see, Meadow has hit this stage where she doesn’t like to be handed over to strangers for an hour.  And, truth be told. . . I hit that “fear of handing my children over” stage the minute I became a Mama.)

Do you want to go to class or stay with Mama? I said a silent prayer that she would say “Mama”.
Class, Meadow responded.
Good Meadow! I lied.  I quietly spoke to myself. . . this is good.  She’s growing up.  She’s ready.  This is exactly what is supposed to happen.

I think I asked the question about seven more times during our ride.  She went back and forth uttering, “Mama” and then “Class”, but class seemed to be the winner.  It was the winner, that is, until we drove into the large parking lot and she saw the building.  Immediately her mind was set, Mama!!I breathed a sigh of relief as I ushered her into the building where we made our way to our seats near the back.  As soon as we took our seats she began questioning, Daddy? Charlie? Nelsh?  I explained the her brother and sister were in their classes and Daddy was helping with the band. 

Oh, she seemed to be swallowing the information.  I class, she said.

All right, then.  I guess that did it.  I got up from my seat and walked Meadow to the room that held several other 2-year old little ones.  As soon as I opened the door, Meadow began shaking her head and the pleas began, no Mommy, no Mommy, no, no, no.  Big, fat, humongous, tears magically appeared in her eyes while a simultaneous big, fat, humongous lump formed in my throat. 

The irrational side of me fought with my logical side. ‘ I’m going to whisk her out of here and save her from her fears’ fought with ‘she needs to stay, play, and find out that it’s not so scary.’  And ‘I can make it all better’ fought with ‘she needs to learn that she can be okay without me.’It was impressive how many valid points my irrational and logical sides could make in a span of 45 seconds, but in the end, logical won.  I {reluctantly} knelt down to Meadow’s level and swallowed hard against the lump that  was stuck in my throat.  I pointed Meadow toward one of her little friends in the class as she fought to catch her breath with the tears rolled down her face and repeated, no, no, no. . . As quickly as I could I offered an apology to the workers who would have Meadow in their care and left the room before my irrational side took out my logical side with a swift upper cut to the jaw.  When I walked into the hall another mother, hearing Meadow’s screams, looked at me with knowing eyes. . . ohhhhhhh, she stated simply.

I suspect that woman, hearing the echo’s of Meadow’s screams,  knows what we all know. . .

Letting go?  It hurts.

Oh, not all letting go.  Like, when Meadow wanted buckle her own carseat.  By all means. . .

Or when she decided she was ready to dress herself. . .

Even if she wanted to wear her dresses backwards. . .

She wears her clothing backward almost daily.

Or dress like Minnie Mouse. . .

. . . everyday. . .

Or wear pearls to play in the dirt. . .

Or wear an Easter dress and rain boots on a walk. . .

These are the ‘letting go’ experiences we celebrate. 

It’s the letting go and letting them wade into the waters of the unknown.  Oh, that’s so scary and so very hard.  One moment they are squishy little babies who fit snugly in that space between your wrist and your elbow and the next  they are soaring off on their own.

How did that happen so quickly?

I sat in church only half paying attention and wondering how my tearful
little one was doing.  I knew they would call if she wasn’t doing well,
so I waited.  While I stewed, I processed it in my head. . . I thought about motherhood, her tears, the lump in my throat, the pain in my heart, the fear in her eyes. . .

The conclusion I came to was this. . . One after another, parenthood is, very simply put,  a series of letting go. 

At it’s very core, my job as a mother (I believe) is to open their eyes and help them navigate the world around them. . .

. . . and knowing when to step back and let them take the reigns.

In all honesty, I wanted to take Meadow with me and have her sit on my lap and protect her from the fear that was uncomfortable to her.  But somewhere (way deep down) I understand that it is my job to empower her with the understanding that she is strong and capable. . .

Truly, that is what it boils down to.  When I cheer them on, in the face of their anxiety (and mine) they hear loud and clear. . .

You can do it. 

I guess with each year that passes and each experience we face, I learn more and more, that parenting really is not about me.  I mean, it is, but it isn’t.  As much as I want to hold the reigns tight and keep them close, it’s more about how much room I leave for them to explore and discover–themselves and the world. 

I would be lying if I said that this was easy for me.  And anyone who knows me would laugh if I said I wouldn’t shed another tear over this letting go process.  In all reality, I understand that I will probably parent the rest of my life with a bitter-sweet lump in my throat 75% of the time. 

I’ve learned to be okay with that. What is more important is this. . .

When I picked Meadow up from her class an hour later and asked, did you have fun in class? She smiled and said. . .

Uh-huh.  I do puzzle. That’s what I call empowerment.