This summer we took a short trip to Sesame Place in Pennsylvania. We happened upon a ride called "Blast Off" that raises you into the air only to drop you over and over again. I was thankful that my pregnancy prohibited me from riding. I don't like heights and I especially don't like falling from them. Jeff decided he and Grace would ride and, I admit, I thought it was a terrible idea. In my mind, there was no way my little girl would not be in hysterics the first time the ride dropped her and she got the feeling of falling. Much to my surprise, I was wrong. She exited the ride laughing hysterically and asked to ride it again the next day. It was a moment where I had to hit refresh on what I thought I knew about my kid. It was the first time that I really felt her gaining independence from me and I found that both relieving and really disturbing!
We had another "Blast off" moment today, this one a bit more momentous. As I type this, Grace is at pre-school...her first day. We've spent months preparing, reassuring Grace that it would be fun, that she'd make new friends, learn a lot, have great snacks and that, after 2 and a half hours, Mommy would be back to pick her up. Our morning played out as planned -- wake up, get dressed, do hair, have breakfast, brush teeth, take some pictures and out the door. The part that had my stomach doing flips was the goodbye once we got to school. Unbeknownst to Grace, I cried quietly in the front seat the whole way there. I composed myself before we went in, said hello to her teachers, hung up her backpack...and Grace was off playing in the "kitchen" (not suprising to anyone who knows Grace!). As parents started to trickle out, I knew it was time to make my move. My stomach was in a knot and I was holding back tears, but I somehow eeked out, "Grace, Mommy's going to go now." I braced myself for the response. Would she cry? Would she cling to me and beg me not to go? Would she make it impossible for me to leave? Or would she do exactly what she did: not even look up from shopping cart she was now pushing around and say, so simply, "See ya." I simultaneously let out a breath of relief ... and yet I felt as though I was punched in the stomach.
When I was eighteen years old and left my parents' house for my first day of college, my mom stood in front of the door in the kitchen and refused to let me out despite my pleas to her not to make me late for my first class, World Civilizations. As she held her arms pasted across the door shouting, "You can't leave! I won't let you go!" I was annoyed and amused, but I definitely felt ready to physically remove my mother from my path so that I could get on with my education ... and my life. My mom, she wasn't ready. I didn't get that at the time, but I sure do get it now.
I always understood my relationship to Grace in this way: I am her mother. This means that my primary jobs are to protect her, provide for her, and teach her things she needs to know so that she can become an independent, responsible, and caring individual. I guess I didn't realize that there would be so much for me to learn about her, about my own mother, and about myself. As she has helped me to define my role as "Mommy," I realize I've come to rely on her to need me so that I can fulfill that role. In the moment today where she said "see ya," she didn't need me, and in that moment, I felt a little lost. So today I also hit refresh on what it means to be a mom and, as difficult as it is, I see that being a mom sometimes means letting go.
