My baby doesn't live here anymore

By Christine

The church clock struck five, making me press the pedal to the metal to get Sophia to her ballet lesson on time. Furrowed brow and white knuckles were all that was left of my posture. I was worried my daughter had taken on too much this week. First flute practice at school, then soccer practice, then a birthday party invitation and now ballet. Most of her day is filled with rushing from one thing to the next.

"How did this happen?" I scolded myself as we rounded the corner to the dance school parking lot. I’ve always preached a slower way of life. The kids aren’t allowed more than two extracurricular activites. As I sorted it out in my mind, my daughter’s feet hit the pavement. Before I could say good-bye, her blonde pigtail had escaped behind the school’s front door. Wide-mouthed and paralyzed, I sat in the car with my forearm bent perpendicular to my head.

My daughter didn’t need me anymore. She didn’t need guidance on how to put on her ballet shoes. She knew where her water bottle was. She had no hesitation about being in a new class with kids she didn’t know yet. She was no longer a baby. Truly.

I swallowed the lump and lowered my limb. Shifting into gear, I consoled myself. "At least I have my five-year-old son," I reasoned as I dawdled about the town for an hour. He was still at the birthday party and would be picked up by his father. Would he miss me?

We got home and the typical chaos ensued. Overtired, underfed children pleading for a video. Parents struggling to control voices to find reason in the midst of its lacking. By 9 p.m., my husband and I were ready to settle into bed with a good book and an early bedtime. Our son stood in the doorway, squinting into the halogen light.

“Do you want to snuggle?” I asked hopefully, pulling back the covers for him to get into bed. He slipped under the blanket and pressed his warm feet against me. He asked lots of questions about this and that, revealing how he didn’t like my calling him by his pet name anymore. He was a big boy soccer player with dreams.

“What should I call you, then?” I asked.

“My name.”

It was almost too much to take. Where did the time go? One minute I was complaining about extreme sleep deprivation. The next my kids were actively pursuing their own interests without me! My babies were indeed growing up.

As my son’s breathing became shallow and even, I knew no matter how independent they became, a part of them would always come back. And I’d be there at the ready with a snuggle and an ever hopeful, listening ear.

Christine is an American author and freelance writer living near Munich, Germany, with her husband and two children (Jackson, 4 and Sophia, 6).

Comments

[Robin P]

That's it....I'm protesting your posts! They always make me cry and give me a stabbing pain in my heart.

That being said,I know just how you feel. Sometimes I say to Lillianna,"I think that if you could drive a car,you wouldn't need a mother at all." She always says,"I will always need a mother for hugs and snuggles and to love me."

She is one week away from turning 9,so you can imagine her independence at this point. I am proud and sad....but mostly proud.

It is a great feeling to know we have raised them to be independent and adventurous and self confident. That sure beats a clingy child who can't leave their mom. They're usually the ones that are still living at home at 40!

(I think from now on,I'll double check the name on the post before reading it and if it's one of yours,I'll grab a tissue first!)

[laura]

That proves the great mother you are. Congratulations!

[Janet]

What independent and confident children. You are one lucky momma. I do love the cuddle time in bed though...cherish that.

[Jenn]

You must also feel great knowing that you've raised confident children. One of the best things you could give them. Great job!