Evan is sick today. He actually began to get sick yesterday, but today it is obvious he is really sick this time. We are so fortunate to have such healthy kids. We usually only have one or two sick visits to the pediatrician per year. They hardly ever have to miss school. It is easy to take that for granted, but when your kid is sick it is hard to remember to be thankful for what you have.
As I waited at the pediatrician's office today with Evan running a 103 fever
with medicine and his throat so sore he couldn't eat, drink, talk, and refused to cough, I was pretty worried about my big guy. Then he asked if he could sit on my lap. I said, sure, and he curled up in my lap and snuggled his face into my chest. I buried my nose in his hair and rearranged his long legs into the chair beside us. I'm sure we looked a little strange. Evan, although only 6, easily looks 8. He is very tall. I'm sure he looked much too big to be sitting in mommy's lap. But, I don't care. I can't tell you the last time he sat in my lap. When he sits in my lap, his feet still reach the ground. I inhaled the scent of his hair. The baby smell is completely gone now. It is no longer fine and soft, but course and thick. He smells of boy now. Fresh air, dirt, sweat, and fun. I looked at his hands, more than half the size of my own now, soon to be much larger than mine. They are no longer the chubby little baby hands I once held. His fingers are long, thin, graceful, active, and sure. Then I looked at his face. His cheeks were flushed with fever, but not round and chubby as they once were. His jaw line is already beginning to be defined, his chin strong, a glimpse of the masculine face that will come. My eyes moved toward his. His eyelids were closed, the long dark lashes swept his pink cheeks and there he was. My baby. I remembered those lashes from when he was an infant closed in peaceful sleep as he nestled right in the exact same spot. How many times did I kiss those sweet eyelids? I kissed his hot forehead. I am so thankful for these glimpses of my babies even as they grow up so quickly. I know they will be fewer and farther between the bigger they get, but there will always be a part of them that will be my baby. He needs me less and less every day. It happens so gradually you barely notice it is happening, until you realize that everything has changed so quickly your head is spinning. So, I was very thankful for the rare cuddle and snuggle we were able to share today, even though it came at the expense of his (temporary) health. Feel better soon, buddy.
As I was leaving Chloe's preschool after dropping her off, I passed a mom carrying a little girl who appeared to be somewhere between 15 and 18 months old. She had curly little baby hair sticking up in a little pony tail on her head and sweet, chubby baby cheeks and a pacifier in her mouth. As I passed them, her mom said, "Give me that paci." and tried to take it away. The baby protested and the mom said, "Only babies use pacis and you're not a baby are you?" I kept walking, but my heart ached. I so wanted to say, yes she is. She is a baby. Look at those sweet cheeks and sweet baby curls. If you want to see a big girl, go look at my daughter in her preschool room. You just don't understand how quickly it will go and how in the blink of an eye she really won't be a baby anymore. Be thankful for her baby years. Don't push her so quickly. But, of course, I didn't. Not only was it none of my business, but it would do no good. Our job is to help them grow and become independent, our curse is the bittersweet pain it brings. To do our jobs well, means to lose what we cherish most. We do our jobs so well, we eliminate the need for our job in the process.
Matthew and I were looking at cars (for him) the other day and the salesperson we were working with told us that his daughter went to our school. Now she was all grown up, graduated from college, and working in... Australia! She had met an Aussie there and was getting married and he didn't think she'd be returning anytime soon. His daughter had literally moved to the other end of the Earth. My worst nightmare. As I listened to him talk about her, he was undoubtedly proud of her and amazed. He said, "I raised her to be independent, but I didn't realize just how independent she would be." I tried to imagine how I would feel. He had not seen her in person in three years. He had not met his future son-in-law at all. He didn't get a long enough vacation from work at one time travel to see her. This was the first time I ever really and truly considered the possibility that my children may very possibly literally leave me one day. I guess I had always just imagined they would live nearby or at least within a plane ride's distance. But, it's possible that (if I do my job well) they may someday move far, far away to have a smashingly successful life... without me. Gulp.
I've said it before and I'm sure I'll say it again, being a mother is so difficult. The other night Chloe wouldn't come up the stairs. She was insisting I come back down and carry her up. I was insisting she walk up like a big girl. It was a power struggle. Eventually I won. As I lay beside her in bed while she snuffled the last of her tears away, I stroked her hair and thought, "Why did I just do that?" My nights to carry her to bed are so limited. On the other hand, I had told her to do something and she was being defiant and if there is one thing I've learned... you do not give in to the demands of the terrorist (the terrorist being the child, of course). I'm teaching her to be obedient. I'm teaching her to be independent. I'm helping her grow up. I'm doing my job. I'm showing her how to pull away from me, to need me less and less. And one day (very soon, judging from how quickly it went with Evan), I will realize how thoroughly I've done that job and I'm pretty sure I'll be kicking myself and saying, "Do you always have to be an overachiever?"
Bittersweet.
