This morning, I am re-publishing an essay I wrote two years ago, when sending my son off to school for the first time. Perhaps you will relate to its pitch as you wind up the school year, prepare to send your child to sleep away camp for the first time, or watch your child graduate. I, too, was reflecting on its sentiments this past week as I placed a few orders for my son’s imminent fifth (!) birthday. I know we carry all the ages of our children inside, but the agony of not having those ages here-and-now, freckle-faced and wide-eyed in my lap, burns like a loss. But! Today I find myself reassured. None of these emotional stabs and twinges are nefarious, or harmful. They are love made manifest.
If you’re rounding the corner or closing a chapter in your motherhood journey, sitting with you today.
*****
On Tuesday night, I tossed and turned. I tried every trick in the book, including those breathing exercises: “Focus on your breath. In, out, in, out. Think about your lungs expanding and filling with air. Every time an errant though arrives, slick it away.” Futile maneuvers, all: my focus rolled away from me like yarn. Instead, I continued to fixate on all the details of my son’s imminent first day of school. Had I packed the extra masks as instructed? I’d need to get the first-day-of-school flag down. Would he sit still for a picture? What backdrop? The sinister lurked just beneath: how had I not spent more of our mornings together soaking him up? Why had I not knelt beside him to run trains over the blue rug in his bedroom that morning last week he patted the ground beside him, commanding me to “play, mama”? Oh, it was agony — to lie awake on the penultimate night of his babyhood and recount all my missteps and oversights as his mother. The entire saga was tinged with the bruiselike tenderness of just having made it through this bumpy patch with the children at home too-long — mini had been out of school for nearly a month and a half! –and my patience worn thin. I have tried, I told myself. I have done my best, I insisted. The pit in my stomach turned its cheek at my remonstrances.
Tuesday night, I still felt mother to a baby. Wednesday morning, I watched a small blonde boy march straight across the icy street, hand in his father’s, and straight into the care of his new teacher, without so much as a glance in my direction. I signed a form, indicating his temperature that morning (COVID protocol) and, in the fluster of exchanging clipboards and sliding my daughter’s backpack over her shoulders and balancing on the crunchy snow of the curb, he was whisked away from me wordlessly. I knew this was for the best, having lived through and observed many more protracted separations on the pavement in front of school. But still — a throb. I insisted Mr. Magpie pull the car up so we could spy on him as he filed into the outdoor play area in front of his Montessori. He waited behind another child for his turn to scoop birdseed into a dish. His head cocked to the side as he lowered the dish in, as if estimating. The gesture seemed jarringly mature. Has he always done this? I could see half his face — determined, curious — and I felt again the divisive pique of motherhood: that these children are mine, but that they also belong to themselves. That tiny shift of his head sent me into a nearly physical distress over the thought that he would soon be entering the classroom, and sitting at his small table, and waiting in line for the toilet, and that I would not bear witness to any of those small happenings. When he is near me, I can envision his thoughts and wants. I can sense mounting frustration, can gauge by gait whether he is tired, recalcitrant, excited, can even anticipate what he might be retrieving as he wanders into a particular room in the house. Now, it feels as though those tethers have been clipped. He is his own.
I returned home, crying the entire way, and texted a girlfriend of mine who went through a similar, emotional transition with her second child starting school last fall. She reassured me in all the right ways. She shared that her son has blossomed while in school, and that she treasures listening to the voices of her two children chatting about teachers and classmates and concepts like “hemispheres” and “alphabet sounds” (they are also a Montessori family) at night. She reminded me that our sons are developmentally ready to be away, and that they need time apart from their moms. And then she said: “But you should let yourself feel all the feels. It just shows how much you love your role as a mom.”
The words came like a hug. I realized that instead of using this transition as an occasion to browbeat over moments I have missed or blindly marched through in my son’s baby years, and instead of mourning his babyhood, I could welcome this moment to just sit with the awareness that I love him so much I don’t want anything about him to change. And to see that there is nothing dark or rueful or terminal afoot: it is all borne by the same love that carried him into this world. He is mine, and he is not mine, and my emotions around these truths are just permutations of love.
So sitting here today with droopy hearts dancing in my eyes.
Until 11:30. When I pick him up, and remember that he is not really gone so long (two hours?) and that he is still the same wee man who will not sit still to let me dress him and loves to roar “IRONMAN!” and pilfers milk from me at 5 p.m. on the dot like a little street urchin. “Milk?” he pleads, his eyes raindrops. He will be that boy until he’s not, and then I will love the next version of him, and then the next, and then the next, and so we will continue on, improvising through every shade of love.
Post-Scripts.
+”…Do all parents feel this way as their babies grow? This toggling between togetherness and separation? The merging and submerging of the self? I will occasionally see in her the expression of her nanny, or the learnings from a class. “Elmo,” she insists when she sees the bright red cartoon character on a juice box or advertisement, though I have never shown her Elmo. Where did she learn that? And I cock my head and think, “My little shadow has ventured away from me and learned something new.” Settling into parenthood, I think, is a gradual drawing and redrawing of the lines around the self. This is me, this is not me. You are an extension of me, you are your own self. I carry you in my heart, you are my heart outside my body.” More of these thoughts (not far from the ones above, but written two years ago!), here.
+In case you caught the reference, big old hearts dancing in our eyes is a lyric from a John Prine song Mr. Magpie loves.
+Another musing born of a great John Prine song.
+My thoughts here reminded me of the Shel Silverstein quote: “I can be someone’s and still be my own.”
+Things I love about my daughter.
Shopping Break.
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+Cute, well-priced cover up. Also love this rainbow striped one, which could also be worn as a day dress. I did end up ordering this rainbow striped pareo from Cesta I’d been eyeing for awhile!
+While we’re talking swim, a few standout suits: this lavender eyelet Solid & Striped, this Zimmermann, this dramatic Maygel Coronel, this striped Staud, and this botanical Agua Bendita.
+Amazing Amazon steal — such fun patterns!
+A great summer dress for something like a graduation, end of year school event, etc.
+Seashell earrings are trending right now — love these TBs. Look for less with these or these.
+Love this strapless mint green dress from hip label Posse.
+Chappywrap just launched a lightweight version of its popular blanket for summer. Such great prints!
+Hanna Andersson has some cute kids separates for summer – love this striped skort, this red white and blue tee for FOJ, and this cheerful dress.
+Don’t miss FRP Collection’s new summer collection. WOW! You know how much I love my mint green petite Sylvie bag. I might need this pink crochet, too.
+I think this romper is adorable! I might cinch with a belt.
+If you are sending a little one off to camp, how cute are these jammies and this camp stationery?
+Drooling over these Prada mini bags.
+Freda Salvador restocked its popular woven flats in some fab summer colors.