Letting Go

I am a huge sap, and a giant sentimentalist.  For that, I do not apologize.  I weep at my children's birthday parties.  I cry at New Years.  I get a lump in my throat at Weddings.  Don't even get me started about my children's baby photos and mementoes.  Yikes.

I have a hard time letting go and moving on to say the very, very least.

I suppose this topic is on my mind because recently my son finished up his first year of preschool.  See this is how much of a silly sap I really am - he finished up his FIRST year of preschool.  Oh, he'll be going back next year, oh yes!  It's not even like he's done preschool altogether and moving on to REAL KINDERGARDEN.  Nope.  There's more of the same coming his way (much to his dismay, he's really excited to ride the school bus.  Woah there little buddy, Mama's not ready for THAT.).

But yet I photographed this event like the Royal Wedding itself, taking photos of all angles, trying to mirror them to the ones that were taken on his FIRST day nine months ago.  I tried to make the day special for him, trying hard to make it stand out in his young memory, so that maybe in 20 years from now when we're chatting about his youth perhaps he'll remember his last day of preschool (year 1 of 2) and remember the day fondly, perhaps tease me over my smothering photography practices.

This is the way I am.  Something about me attaches heavy value and sentiment to things and events that perhaps don't require such lavish attention.  Yet, I cannot help it.  I feel that if I don't do the crazy things I do, they will vanish like smoke, and no one will remember.

This was my way long before I had kids, but now that I have two flesh-and-blood kidlets underfoot, the problem has gotten out of hand.

I remember the first time it hit me...  Joshua was a few months old and we were trying to establish an earlier bedtime for him.  This, of course (why did I say "of course"?  This is not an "of course" moment...  all babies are different, and not everyone who reads this article will naturally presume that A leads to B, yet I assume everyone knows all the same things as I do...  sigh.  Welcome to my crazy brain) meant that we would be dropping a feeding sessions.  I wept!  He did not NEED me any more!  He did not WANT me anymore!  He did not LOVE me anymore!  I was a superfluous mother figure in his life to only needing to breastfeed 11 instead of 12 times per day!  Oh woe!  Oh dear!

I was mortally wounded over this "rejection" of me and my (presumably) delicious milk.  My darling and ever supportive husband tried to reassure me that this was a GOOD thing...  look I had more freedom now!  I could sleep from 8pm till 8am now if I so desired, instead of having to feed him at midnight!  But yet I took this as a step away from me, one tiny step on the path that would take my precious baby out of my arms and into the world forever.

Many steps would follow.  Moving out of the crib.  Into a real bed.  Out of diapers.  Into preschool.

But this is the way that these things happen.  I think that people who are not sentimental forget that.  Every little change, or accomplishment, that our children make is one little step away from us.  One step into the world.  One step towards becoming an adult.  And, being an adult, I want them to just hang on to their babyhoods as long as possible!  Being an adult is SO overrated.  Bills.  Traffic.  Laundry.  All bad bad things.  Stay little.  Go to bed at 8:00pm.  It's okay!  Let me tie your shoe.  Let me cut your chicken nugget into tiny cubes.  Stay with me a little longer.  Let's snuggle and pretend today will never end.

Maybe this sentimentality came from when I was a child.  Always worried about what a new change would mean to my little life.  I'm not sure when "changes" went from being good, exciting things to bad, terrifying things, but it did.  Perhaps one day I will decipher when and how it happened, but I suppose for today, it can just be.

My husband is the polar opposite to me, and it seems that both kids will inherit this awesome genetic trait (whewf!).  When we sold our first family home to move to our bigger current one, I was a puddle of mush, full of "Oh HOW can we leave this beautiful house?!  Our kids were born here!  This house was so special." blah-biddity-blah-blah!  Nope.  My husband was "Yeah let's get OUT of this piece of crap and into something new!  Yee haw!".  I'm not sure if he actually said "Yee haw" or not, but it wouldn't be unlike him to do so.

I wish so many times that I were more like him.  More willing to release myself from the past and run full speed into the future.  To say "Oh great my babies are no longer babies!  We can have more fun with them now!" instead of "Oh GREAT my babies are no longer babies!  They won't need me anymore and they're not tiny and cute anymore and my purpose for being on this planet is shrinking and shrinking!".  I think that would be a much healthier way to view things.

But, alas, I am who I am.

I have a lasting image in my mind about being a child and making a big leap in life.  I was learning how to ride my bike.  Without training wheels.  I was very excited.  And nervous.  My Dad was running behind me, hand cupped underneath the seat of my fantastic bright green bike.

I think that's where I am now.  I am cupping the precious babyhoods of my children's lives in my hand. I am running with them, trying to keep up.  Watching them laugh, smile, struggle with their learning of how to live.  How to change.  How to grow.

I run as fast as I can.

I try to keep up.

But eventually.  I will have to let go.

Deep in my memory I am aware of the moment my Dad lets go of the seat...  I am flying down the road on my freedom.  I am smiling and laughing.  It is evening and the sun is low and golden and in my eyes.  I ride down the road until I get as far as I dare.  I turn my bike around to see if my Dad is as happy and proud as I am, but he is too far away.  I cannot see his face, and he is already walking back to the house.  I have gone too far for him to see my smiling face.  And I cannot see his to see if he is proud of me.

This is where faith comes in.

Faith my children will know I will ALWAYS be proud of them.  No matter how far they go.  No matter what they do.

Faith they will know that I love them, forever.

No matter if they cannot see my smiling face, and crying eyes.