Have you ever stopped to notice how amazingly sweet it is to have a little one adore you? Maybe it’s your niece or nephew, or your friend’s child, or your own. Maybe its someone you teach or someone you see at church on Sundays. Maybe its your neighbor or just a stranger that you smiled at in the aisle at Target. Kids have this way of wearing their adoration on their sleeve. They don’t worry about whether or not it is reciprocated. They don’t think about rejection or looking silly or giving someone the upper hand. They simply show it without hesitation. I love the way kids love. And I miss it when I’m away!
Which is actually what happened earlier this year when I went on a phenomenal, once in a lifetime trip with friends. My family stayed home and went about their lives without me, seemingly unfazed. But I missed them like crazy. It’s funny, because I was really worried about how the girls would do without me since we had become accustomed to spending all our time together. I’m sure they missed me, but it seemed it was me who took the brunt of the separation anxiety. My heart ached for them.
I returned home late on a Saturday night and it was already way beyond bedtime. I imagine that the girls probably begged my husband to let them stay up until I got home but it was just too late. So when I got home I peeked into each of their rooms to give them a quick kiss before heading to my own bed. At some point in the middle of the night Ivy came over to my room, as she often does, and after crawling into the center of my bed she realized that I was there, too. She is a snuggler, so it isn’t uncommon for her to embrace me in her sleep, but this time she was giving my head a bear hug; I could tell she missed me. Mid-hug, she whispered the sweetest words ever, “I’m so lucky you’re home.”
She didn’t say I’m glad you’re home. Not I’m relieved that you’re home. Not I missed you. I’m sure she felt those things and meant those things, too. But what she said is that she felt lucky to have me there in our home and in her life and as her Momma. She reaffirmed once again that right now I am the absolute object of her affection. This is a stage of life that I really do not want to end. Ever. But I know that it will.
I know it will because I see her nine year old sister already pulling away. She loves me, sure. I know that. But she doesn’t write my name on everything anymore. She doesn’t draw me holding her hand. I’m not part of every story she tells. She’s not singing songs about me and smothering me with her hugs and kisses. She doesn’t beg me to lay down with her in her bed at night until she falls asleep. She doesn’t get upset if I have to be away for a night or two. She doesn’t show her affection so eagerly or so publicly. She is guarded at times. She is growing up.
Last night she came into my room in the middle of the night. She closed the door as quietly as she possibly could and used a flashlight that she brought with her to navigate the dark room. She had to pee, and opted to use our toilet instead of the one in the hallway which tells me that she was a little bit scared to be alone in the dark of the night but not scared enough to need me to be awake. It used to be that if Adele had to go potty in the middle of the night, she would yell for me to come over to her room. Then at some point she started coming over to mine to wake me up to tell me. And now she sneaks into my room, bringing her own flashlight, to quietly use our bathroom without waking us. And she doesn’t call it “going potty” anymore either.
This progression could easily go unnoticed. Or maybe I should stop and try to appreciate it. I mean, the thought that she wouldn’t want to wake us is very sweet. But clearly my baby isn’t a baby anymore so despite the sweet gesture it sort of breaks my heart! Soon she’ll start using the bathroom in the hall instead. I wonder how many times I’ll wake up to check on her anyway. At some point I’ll probably just listen to make sure she gets back to her room alright. And I wonder when I’ll stop even doing that. I’d like to think that I’ll do that forever, because it feels like my job as a mom. But my guess is that as she is changing and becoming more independent, I’m going to have to train myself to let her fly.
Over the weekend I was in a conversation with a few moms who have daughters in high school. That feels really scary to me right now. I’m going to have a middle-schooler next year and I don’t think I’m even prepared for that yet. These moms were talking about the limited time that they have left with their kids. As in: there are literally only two or three summers left before they are adults and in college and can decide for themselves whether or not they want to join family vacations or even live at home. Eek! I’m sad over my kid using the bathroom without me. How am I going to handle high school in a few years?
Recognizing that this is a normal part of life, I am trying to soak up all of the sweet adoration while I can. I don’t mean that as selfishly as it sounds. I just know that 5 years from now or 3 years from now or 1 year from now things will not be the same. They won’t always think that I’m the best thing that ever happened. They’ll start to notice my flaws, my imperfections, my insecurities. They will challenge me in new ways and we will feel worlds apart at times. So right now I just want to revel in this love and enjoy these fleeting moments.
For instance, my absolute favorite part of the day right now is the moment when my kids get off the bus and I am there to greet them. They charge off the bus most days, bursting with excitement as they tell me about the day. Few things in life have brought me the same joy that I feel in that moment. I consider myself extraordinarily lucky that I get to be there for them right now. I want to just bottle up those moments and save them for another time. I’m guessing that the teenage years will provide many times when I might need to think back on those sweet memories.
But there is good in all of this “growing up,” too. I can’t tell you from experience with my own kids, but I can definitely vouch for it as an adult myself. You see, as profound and important as these little moments are for me right now, they are simply “life” as my kids know it. It will be many years before they recognize how special these moments were. At some point a little light bulb will turn on inside their growing brains and they will get it. And we’ll be able to look back on these times together with love and joy and the nostalgia that they deserve. Plus, if they are anything like me, they will continue to think the world of their Momma, even if they don’t always show it.
Happy birthday, Mom! I’m lucky to have you. Thank you for letting me fly and for being there every step of the way. I’ll call you every time I get up to use the bathroom in the middle of the night, if you want. Let me know 😉