On Motherhood and Transitions

Timeline Illustrating Basic Child Development

Day 1: Gorgeous, teeny bundle of joy emerges forth from your nether-regions.

Two freaking seconds later: Gorgeous, teeny bundle of joy can run, jump, sass you in perfectly intelligible sentences, and is ready to go off to school.

I kid; she’s going to summer camp, not school. But I know this summer will just fly by, and at the end of the summer, she WILL go to pre-school. And then eventually kindergarten, and then she’ll be graduating college about a nanosecond later. I know I sound overly dramatic, but it’s hard not to feel like it’s all happening so fast (I am every parenting cliche right now, and I honestly don’t give a damn). I just want to hold her close to me with my face buried in her hair, enjoying the sweet scent of this beautiful little human being who is all at once so much a part of me and so much her own person.

The truth of the matter is that this new stage in our lives forces me to take stock of how far we’ve come in such a very short time. It makes me question whether I’ve been good enough, done enough, said the right things, prepared her in the right ways, protected her enough, let her explore enough, taught her enough, made her happy, hell, done enough damage in 3 1/2 years to necessitate decades of therapy for all of us. It makes me wonder if the decision to send her to summer camp and then to school in the fall is the right decision for her, for me, for our whole family. Do I know her well enough to know that this is right? Do I know our family well enough to know that this is right? What will I do if I’m wrong? Will I be able to manage it? Will she? What kind of mother will I be if I’m wrong? And how will she respond to these transitions? Will she be scared? Will she be shy? Will her teachers be able to see what a radiant, strong little girl she is? And yet, as strong as she is, will they be able to see how soft and sensitive she is, too?

Aaaaand cue sobbing. Here I thought I wouldn’t cry until she started preschool.

My sweet, sweet baby girl (and you’re still too young to get mad at me for calling you that, although I’m certain some day you will), I adore you. Watching you grow up is the most heartbreaking and beautiful things I will ever have the privilege to witness. With each passing day you make bigger strides towards independence, closing the gap between that helpless infant in whose ear I whispered promises of undying love, and that strong, brave, independent woman whose face I can sometimes see peaking through from behind your gorgeous, impish grins. And as hard as it might be, I love this path that we’re on. I love that you, you are my daughter. I love that I get to be the one to help you navigate this transition and whatever else the future holds for our family. I love that in the few short years you’ve been with us, you have, and you will continue to help me, too. I think we’ve done okay so far, and I promise I’m going to keep trying my damnedest not to screw it up. I can guarantee I won’t always get it right, and when I don’t, I’ll try to show you by example how to be humble, apologize, and make it a little bit better (and sweetie, this is an especially tough one for the women of our family). I can also promise that I’ll get weepy like this every so often, because loving you has turned me into a puddle of mush. So when you go off to your first day of camp, or your first day of kindergarten or middle school, or when you move away to go to graduate school, or head to the hospital to have your own baby, I will hug you a little tighter. I will shower you with extra kisses. I will make a fuss over whether or not you’ve had enough to eat, and I’ll beam proudly as you move on to your next big adventure. And when it’s all said and done, I’ll be ready to listen, to laugh, to cry, to comfort, to hold, to be your Mama no matter how big you yet. I love you.

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