Growing Up

Before I had kids, I knew it all. In all of my worldly experiences of observing other moms, I knew exactly what I would do (differently AND better of course) when it was my turn. Wow, is motherhood a crash course in humility. I've discovered that it's not nearly as easy as it looks and too often, there is no "right" way. And I soon learned the #1 rule: Don't ever judge another mother. Today, though, I have to say I'm breaking the rule.

I've just about had it with some parents on Facebook mourning the fact that their children are going to college. I've read that they're sick to their stomachs, the "sad" day they've dreaded is finally here, they can't bear to lose their babies. I don't get it. To be fair, I can't possibly relate to what they're going through. My kids are three and six and it's a "long" twelve years before we take Sassy to school (somehow we're a third of the way there. . . ) But on the flip side, I've never been one to mourn my girls growing up. When I was 14, I lost a brother at the age of 9 months (yes, my parents have done the unthinkable twice.) For the first year of Sassy's life, I was a nervous wreck. I can remember reaching her first birthday which isn't a guarantee at all, but it felt like I could breathe. Like she was "ok." We made it. A few years ago, I had to watch my brother and his wife bury their daughter at almost a month old. I get SO angry at people who mourn their children growing up when I know my family would give anything to see M and N do just that. Don't we want our kids to go to school, start driving, go to prom, leave for college? I don't understand why parents get so sad to see their kids become the people we want them to be.

My good friend K recently sent me this book because she said it made her think of me. I was SO touched. I LOVE it. The author talks about all of the things she would do if she could keep her child little, but then realizes all of the wonderful things she would miss if they didn't grow up. The last page says it all: "If I could keep you little, I'd keep you close to me. But then I'd miss you growing into who you're meant to be!"

I'm sure it is hard to face the next chapter of life when you've spent the last eighteen years together. And in twelve years I may be eating these words as I have a breakdown on the ride home (please let me wait until the ride home. . .) But I hope and pray that I maintain the same attitude I've had so far.

Last weekend, R and I had the honor of being my new niece's godparents. It was such a beautiful ceremony. The priest reminded us that with baptism, our children aren't ours--but God's. He then asked how many of us celebrate our baptismal dates. Crickets chirping. . . I had never thought about the significance of my baptismal date. He pointed out that it's more important than our day of birth because it's our day of RE-birth. I love the idea of celebrating this day--as E's godmother, I want to do something for her every year on August 18. It's the perfect day to acknowledge her without taking away from something her parents might want to do for her birthday or Christmas. Monsignor also chuckled when the holy water was poured over E's head and she let out a piercing cry--he shared that his grandmother used to say that was the devil coming out. And I kid you not, my lovely husband leaned over and whispered, "Did Stinkus cry?" HA! I love that guy.

It was such a beautiful day to remember that these little miracles are God's--we're just here to raise them, guide them, and show them His way. And when they turn eighteen, to let them GO. And rejoice that He gave us eighteen years with them. I hope that in twelve years, I'm posting on Facebook that it's time to celebrate. Time to celebrate my beautiful daughter leaving home to pursue her dreams and future. Time to celebrate that again while it's no guarantee, she made it. And time to celebrate that in just three more years, the house will be ours. ALL ours. :)