Holding tightly, Letting go

Holding tightly, Letting go

(I wrote this almost two years ago exactly when Gracie was not even 1 yet… now that Will is almost 9 months it’s amazing to see how he’s repeating so many of the same things and I feel that it will be equally hard to let him go one day as well…)

 

I have an overwhelming need to write – or should I say document – everything my daughter does.  Even the smallest of things seem to have the greatest importance.  If it weren’t for digital cameras and the ability to see and store mass quantities of pictures we’d have to take out a second mortgage to cover photography.  Is she in the bathtub?  Better go get the video camera as we don’t want to miss a thing.  Did she babble another sound combination today?  Let me go get my journal and write it down before I forget.

There are so many special moments that I want to capture and hold on to forever. I love the way she laughs when I make my bangs move by blowing a little puff of air toward them.  The sparkle in her eyes is mesmerizing – shining with the glow of the anticipation of each brand new discovery.  She reaches for my hair and sometimes manages to catch it, laughing out loud, thrilled with her success.  Right now she wrestles on the changing table and it’s a major accomplishment to get a dirty diaper off and a clean one on her.  The sheer determination she has to avoid the diaper changing is beyond belief and it’s a determination I hope she’ll use for good in the future.  She’s crawling and pulling up and standing for a second or two.  As soon as she realizes that she’s standing she sits down quickly, back to where she feels safe and can wreak havoc on anything she can get her hands on.

Today she uttered the word “Bubba” in reference to our dog who shares the same name.  We are taking this to mean that she clearly has spoken her first word attached to an identifiable object.  I’m very proud of her and also glad that we didn’t name our dog something along the lines of “Hooligan” as that would be much harder for her to say.  I secretly wish her first word ever would have been “Momma,” but “Dadda” won out.  I’ve heard that babies say “Dadda” first because phonetically it’s easier to say and they find their tongues before they know they have lips.  I’ve also heard that it’s an anthropological development as men are not as moved by small children so they learn to say “Dadda” for survival hoping to touch the tender area of an apparent cave man’s heart.  Regardless of the reason, I’m willing to take second place (that would actually be third place, counting the dog) as long as I’m so blessed to be a part of her life.

Sometimes this seems so easy, so right.  Other times I wonder why in the world God allows any of us to procreate.  The decisions involved from what to feed her to how to be sure I’m providing an educationally stimulating environment for an 11 month old can drown me with worry.  The evening news strikes a mini-panic attack with the mere thought of the world I’ve brought her in to.  I find myself sounding more and more like my parents with my comments on the state of world affairs.  It’s amazing that for so long I thought that they didn’t have clue, that they were behind the times.  Parenthood has slammed me into a new mode of respect for my own mother and father.   They do know what they were (and still are) talking about!. 

Being a mother has taught me immensely about God’s love.  I imagine that sometimes I’m like a baby who refuses to be still and be comforted though His supporting arms are waiting to hold me tight.  I imagine the joy God must feel when we finally stop fighting, curl up in His love, and rest in perfect security and trust.

I hope I can provide Gracie with the same kind of security and trust – the kind that means no matter how bad things get, not matter what happens with wars and sickness and death and bad luck, I’m here for her with outstretched arms with nothing but pure love to surround her.  I’m sure we’ll have our challenging times and I’ll long for the days when she’s right where she is today – crawling and pulling up, standing for a second or two before sitting back down again – but I know I have to let her grow up, good times and bad times included. 

I guess when I look at my place as Gracie’s mother, the true challenge is that from her very arrival the point is to help her grow – then to let her go.  This struck me when she was about 7 weeks old.  I was rocking her in her nursery and I was overcome by waves of never ever wanting to let her go, not even to put her in the crib for a second.   I wanted to sit in the chair and hang on to her for dear life while everything and everyone around us moved ahead at the frantic pace of existence.  And then it hit me clear as a bell – the job of a mother is to love and let go. 

I don’t want to let go.  I don’t want her to go to kindergarten, to elementary school, to dances in junior high.  Then there’s the prom and graduation and then college.  And then the day that she tells us that she’s found a man she wants to marry and she’ll be starting her own family.  It seems too much, too heavy, too fast.  My eyes tear up as I realize the incredible privilege I have to love this little girl, to help her grow up…. to let her go.

I try not to be sad but instead to think of the journey ahead and the fact that I will always have memories of these special times to hold in my heart forever – special moments between the two of us that no camera could ever capture in their fullest.  I thank God for the blessing of motherhood and at the same time ask Him for guidance as I don’t want to fail at the most important job I have.  And then I ask Him for special strength to help me to help her let go as she begins to stand on her own.