Being a mother is what I was born to do. I know this in my heart. It's a deeply peaceful feeling- knowing your feet are on the path God crafted for you.
Peaceful. And difficult.
I stay home, something I give thanks for every single day. Even when it's hard. And even when I want to run away, I am thankful that I have seen my children's first steps. I have taught them their first words. I have kissed all of their booboos.
I don't know how else to parent, but by being THERE for it all. It is overwhelming to me to give up control over their everyday lives. To not make the choices for them. To not see to their physical and emotional needs at all times.
Some might call me a control freak. And they would be right. But I am also flying blind here with parenting, and to make sure I get it as right as I can, I have to see it all. I have to make all of the decisions. Does that make sense?
Lily is 5. She starts kindergarten in less than 2 weeks.
When you teach them to ride a bike.
And my heart is broken. I cannot think of it without a lump in my throat.
She is ready. Of this I have no doubt. She is brilliant and kind and makes friends with ease. Her heart is big. Her mind is sharp enough to grasp new concepts. She is ready.
But I am not.
At all.
Other than when I had Sam, I have never been apart from Lily for more than 5 hours. I need her like I need air and water. She is my best friend, my buddy, my sweet angel, and my great joy.
She is my world.
And now I have to entrust her to others, who by a random lottery, get the privilege of teaching her. Will they see how wonderful she is? Will they look at her face and her eyes and know how lucky they are to spend time with her? Will they recognize what a living, breathing miracle she is?How treasured? How much she has been cherished and prayed for?
I don't know. And what if they don't?
What if someone hurts her? What if her sweet sensitive feelings get hurt? What is she NEEDS me, or cries for me?
For those hours of the day, she is no longer fully mine.
I have let her go in small ways a million times. Play dates, preschool, sitters. I have kissed her and prayed she would be okay- that her own compass would guide her when I could not. It has.
But I am her mama. And I have held her, carried her, prayed over her and kissed her a million times. And I don't want that to end, even in this small way.
And it feels like it is- ending.
This is what nobody can ever ever prepare you for in motherhood. You can have all of the physical gear. You can be mentally ready. But every moment after the birth, you begin to let go.
When you lay them in their crib and walk away.
When you let go of their hands as they sit up the first time.
When you watch as they tumble while learning to walk.
When you teach them to ride a bike.
When you watch them jump off the side of the pool.
And when you watch as they run off in their shiny new shoes, with their pretty new backpack, into school and the rest of their life.
Every new begninning for a child is an ending for the mother.
A thousand small heartbreaks. A million tiny fissures in the planes of your heart. Hundreds of letting go's, millions of bittersweet smiles.
All of it in one sweet face. In two beautiful eyes. In an amazing, gorgeous, remarkable soul.
