My girls are getting past the BIG milestone firsts: firsts words, first steps, the first time they roll over, lose a tooth, or go to school. It will be quite some time before they go on first dates, have first kisses, learn to drive, or go off to college. I don't have to worry so much about life altering changes that come with the firsts, these days. I am glad because firsts hurt in big ways. You know the pain of the letting go is coming way before it actually arrives. The anticipation is brutal.
Both girls are in school now. Gabs started kindergarten and soon the baby teeth will start to fall out, but for the most part, we are in that in-between time where life is filled with status quo and growth is steady and expected. Only it's not really that way because, as I have learned the hard way, it's the little things that sneak up on you and overwhelm you. It's the thousands of times of "letting go" that sever the tiny apron strings that tether all mothers and children to one another.
This past weekend, Bella, my oldest, turned 8. Eight is not a milestone birthday by most accounts, only it is. Eight is when little people who you love more than life itself take that first taste of freedom and no longer have to ride in a car seat. They are allowed to ride in the car, with just a seat belt like the rest of us adults. Doesn't sound like a big deal, except that I had completely forgotten about this until my husband and daughter mentioned on Friday that Sunday, her birthday, we would be having the ceremonial removal of the car seat.
I tried to argue the point because, really, what is age but a number? She is still my baby. Yet reason and number outvoted me. My heart hurt a little at the thought of it all. She was so excited. How could I deny her this milestone?
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On Sunday afternoon at 4:52 p.m., exactly a minute after her birth minute kiss, she interrupted our dinner to have the ceremonial removal of the car seat. We obliged. It was her birthday, after all. As I videotaped the whole thing and watched her tiny face, that is not as tiny as it was last year at this time and looking more and more like a young lady than a child, I felt my eyes well up just a tiny bit but she was so excited. I wasn't sure if they were tears of happiness for her or sadness for me having to let go.
I have clearly underestimated the magnitude of these tiny milestones. They completely overwhelm me. They sneak up when I least expect them, and there I stand, letting go and trying to mask the bittersweet pain that comes with it.
A thousand tiny things that will happen throughout my daughters' lives–like going from a booster seat to a seat belt, no more night-time diapers, deciding to get tiny ears pierced, the first time they no longer need/want you to walk them into school, the first time they tie their shoes, go to sleep without the lovey they couldn't sleep without the week before, first performances on stage, or the first time they see past the veil of magic and realize that the Easter Bunny, Santa Claus and his elves, and the tooth fairy are all not real–give me pause.
Then there are moments when I see the future in them–the way carry themselves or when I see myself in their actions and their deeds. The way my now 8-year-old does things she has to but doesn't want to with no tantrum. She simply sucks it up and does it anyway because she understands that in life we sometimes have to make sacrifices or do things that we don't want to. The way she goes over her sister's spelling words with her every morning on the car ride to school, with a calmness and maturity that impresses me and leaves me wondering who the heck is this person in my backseat teaching my 5-year-old. The way she kisses her toddler cousin's booboos away make me realize that she is not a baby anymore but a young lady with thoughts and feelings and opinions.
Then there are the times when I am left speechless because I see the growing up and feel the letting go as my heart fills with pride when I see my child act with the manners and the morals that I have instilled in her since birth, when she doesn't even know I am there listening. Then I know that she is growing up. The letting go fills me with an underlying sadness because she needs me less … but then I remind myself: She is still growing and she will need me for the rest of her life, even if it's not to wipe her nose or kiss her booboos. At some level, there will always be more milestones to share.
Image via The TRUTH about Motherhood
