As I sit down to contemplate my thoughts, I hesitate. Writing always makes the intangible pulse with a beat.
My daughter and I spent last week in Dallas visiting family and attending a wedding of a childhood friend. I begged my daughter to let me snap this picture at the reception. She resisted for a few seconds. In the past she let me keep clicking my iPhone. I’ve learned that her opinions are not fleeting words. She is committed to her point of view. When she says no, it isn’t “I’ll think about it” or “maybe later,” but a decisiveness which separates the shades between child and adult.
This morning we hurled toward another milestone – the first day of 5th grade. My husband and I walked toward a familiar pathway as she forged ahead. She didn’t stop to check if we were following behind; instead, she flung open the door, placed her backpack on the chair and while I talked with her new teacher, she hurried toward the playground. We lingered in the periphery and the metaphor’s meaning amplified. We saw her white bow bouncing as she giggled with her friends and ran across the green blanket of grass. For a moment, I thought she might look back to lock eyes with us. She didn’t.
It’s happening. The letting go. It pierces in ways I failed to fathom. I am still her mother, but the way she leans on me is different. She’s curious, asking questions about the what she observes, the innocence melting into knowledge about people and her world. Perched on the edge of this awareness, she leaps head first, while I am screaming, “Wait a second.” My words echo in an empty room. Her world is expanding. And that leaves me with the question, “What now?”
This lighting bolt of independence is startling. When she was born, her bare body touching my chest, my eyes gazed at her fresh face. Her lids fluttered open and she said “Momma,” even though she was too young to utter those words. Her needs were intertwined and dependent on me. It’s a sharp contrast to what exists now. This march toward adulthood is freckled with transitions for both of us. My desire is to pause the button on knowing too much too soon, but it’s inevitable. How do I reconcile the distance between holding on and letting go?
The answer to this question is one I continue to process. My forties are wrapped with deconstructing so much of what I believed to be true and the discovery of unexpected lessons. Piercing toward the many facets of motherhood, I hobble, tumble, somersault into the next transition trying to navigate the way for both of us. She will find her way. As she should.
At afternoon pickup today, she stood near the bench of her school. When she slid into the backseat, she wasn’t spilling her words. She kept a little part of herself hidden. I probed, but I know she’s learning to navigate this new and scary terrain. Days will be riddled with uncertainty, but I tell myself, It’s always been this way – its when I gave birth to my daughter did I realize its daunting implications.
Another milestone. Always bittersweet.
Welcome! I am a lawyer turned freelance writer, essayist, and editor. On staff at Literary Mama and the co-founder and co-editor of the literary journal, The Sunlight Press, my essays and reported work have appeared in The Washington Post, The Lily, Saveur, Civil Eats, Brain, Child, ESPN and elsewhere. I am currently at work on a memoir on grief and culture and how it provides perspective on life’s ordinary graces. I invite you to appreciate the ordinary with me. I hope my daily practice of seeing the magic in the mundane helps you celebrate and find more of these moments in your life too.
Lovely photo! And a touching review of this day. Hugs to you 🙂
Thanks, Windy. Bittersweet to write, but I’m glad I captured this memory.
It is bittersweet. Your patience and love will guide you. She is beautiful ! Xox
Thanks, Ayala. Appreciate the sentiment.
She is just lovely. The rewards of liking the adult the grow into help us, but my heart always sees my little ones.
Yes, Bobbi. I feel myself holding on to those early days. . . it’s difficult to let go.
Oh Rudri, I can definitely feel your words. My son, a 4th grader now, is the same way, showing more hints of independence. Just the other day, I couldn’t figure out whether to be sad or impressed that he pack his lunch bag so efficiently, making sure the water bottle won’t leak and all that. The ambivalence we feel as parents is overwhelming at times but this is it, isn’t it? We’ve known all along this was coming but no one is quite prepared for it. Let’s hug each other virtually, shall we? 🙂 xoxo Beautiful piece as always!
Thanks so much, Joy. I am always surprised at the moments I mourn and the epiphany hits me when I witness her master a new skill or watch her reach yet another milestone. Hugs to you, my friend. xo
I love how you capture the moments that say everything. “I thought she might look back to lock eyes with us. She didn’t.” “When she slid into the backseat, she wasn’t spilling her words. She kept a little part of herself hidden.” Our journey through parenting is a continuous letting-go. Though mine are grown, I, like Bobbi, always see them as my little ones.
I’m experiencing those brief, but important moments every single day. She’s coming into her own and all I can do is stand by and watch. That’s the ultimate letting go. xo
Such joy in her eyes and smile, a beautiful child. Growing up is hard to do, sometimes more so for the parent!So many moments of holding on and letting go, but wherever they swim in life there’s a current that flows back to us.
Love this image, Susan. Yes – the hope is she continues to boomerang back to us in happy and sad moments.
I had a milestone today. Dropping my kids off with my parents for NINE days. So far, they don’t miss us. I imagine they will but Scarlet’s independence scares me sometimes!
Your daughter is such a beauty.
Dropping your kids off for nine days is an important milestone. I am certain they missed you in quiet moments, but of course, they will probably never tell you! The independence is necessary, but I agree, it does scare me too. xo
” I am still her mother, but the way she leans on me is different.”
That is so perfectly said.
Thanks, Nina!