Watching You Grow Up

The winter solstice has reminded me of the long commutes home with a baby and a toddler in tow. After spending hours at work, switching between meetings, appointments and hammering out one-handed emails while pumping (Yes, this is before the cool, hands-free pumps.),I would enter the dark night and make the rush to daycare. As quickly as possible, I'd pack the kiddos like precious glass objects being shipped out in the mail. First, it was the snow suits, then boots, mittens, coat, adding inches to their circumference, complicating the effort of getting them into their car seats while they screamed and hit me. I'd toss a snack in their laps and we'd be on our way. If I was lucky, I only had to manage traveling in the darkness, but there were many nights of Star Wars-style commutes, snow speeding at my windshield as we moved through hyperspace. A few deep breaths and some arm strength was required to carry all the things into the house, including two children who suddenly perceived the ground to be hot lava. The first twenty minutes in the door demanded a rapid-response prioritization. Should I take my coat off and nurse? Should I feed the pets or fill the pellet stove? Should I get dinner going and then change Char's diaper or can she chill for a bit while I get the water boiling? It all needed to be done, all at the same time, and I really just wanted to pee and put on my pajamas. From morning to night, I was definitely on my toes all of the time, with the exception of bed and story time, when Andy and I would both find ourselves curled up in one of the kids' beds hours later, a book on our chest and a sweet and sweaty small person wrapped around us.  At first, this lifestyle change is a rude awakening including the sleepless nights, the amount of stuff you have to carry around with you, and the planning involved with leaving the house.  Over time, eating while nursing, changing a poopy diaper in the back seat of the car, putting up a baby gate with one hand, and sleeping sporadically, become as easy as tying your shoes. You stop thinking about and you just do it. You also can't seem to recall what you did with your time before you had kids. Or maybe you do and you regret not having accomplished more when you had the time. While picking up a Binky pacifier off of the floor of Wal-Mart for the 8th time, I'd ask myself, "Why did I never learn to play the violin?" A few weeks ago, I was sitting in my bedroom reading a book. I was in my favorite reading position with my legs draped up over the edges of the chair. I was sipping a coffee. After 15 minutes of uninterrupted reading, it dawned on me that I hadn't sat in this big, puffy reading chair since it had been placed in my room 9 years ago. It was home to a bunch of pillows and some clothes that needed to be put away. I also hadn't read for pleasure for 15 consecutive minutes in as much time. Yet, there I was, sitting in my room, alone, with no one to take care of. We have moved into a new phase. Both girls can be left in a room alone and I don't have to worry about them ingesting a small toy or pulling the cat's tail. They entertain themselves, at least for 30 minutes, and most often by fighting, but still, this is a big change.  They can swallow pill forms of medicine. We made them house keys and email accounts. Charlotte is on Insta. Caro prefers a shower to a bath.  I'm elated and devastated by this phase. I want to run to the hills, twirl in circles, and sing at the top of my lungs because it feels so damn good to have time with my thoughts, or a book, or a cup of coffee. I've missed these small moments with myself and I welcome their return with open arms. I'm also proud of the girls for their personal growth and  I'm grateful to bear witness to their becoming. Charlotte wants to know about everything. We debate politics and religion and she appears to be much more conservative than I am. We debated the terms Indian, Native American and American Indian for weeks. She gives me parenting advice, like why she should have an increase in screen time or what I might considering buying her when she gets her palatal expander removed. She's in the sweet spot right now. She is independent, headstrong and opinionated, but she also still believes in Santa and wants us to tuck her in every night, with a back rub and a kiss. She may not always think we are right, but she thinks the world revolves around me and Andy.  I am no fortune teller, and I have no crystal ball, but I know that this phase will come to an end before I am ready. In only a few years, Char will start to see our flaws. She will introvert into a world in which we do no belong, at least in her mind. She may hate us.  She will let us down and we will let her down.  She will make some bad choices but hopefully just the ones that help her grow. She will get hurt and she will hurt others. She will learn to drive. She will travel. She will get a part-time job. She will love someone romantically. She will go to college and move away, be in a long-term relationship and start a family. I birthed her, fed her, washed her, rocked her, wiped away her tears, helped her learn to ride a bike and swim. I have cared about nothing above her. And she will leave me and some days, she won't think of me, or need me, and I need that and she needs that, but it is still hard. Writing these words, and acknowledging these facts, makes me cry as I long for something I can never get back.  The future for Caroline will be different. I am elated because Caroline has grown drastically despite her developmental challenges. She beats the odds every day, in a million little ways, like conquering her anxiety to attend overnight camps or participating in invasive pelvic floor therapy. While I am crushed  that Charlotte will one day tell me she hates me, I am thrilled when I say good morning to Caro at the bathroom sink and she pulls her toothbrush out of her mouth to reply, "I hate you." I celebrate her black clothes phase, including her desire for me to buy her a pair of Doc Martins! I love her brooding, bitchy attitude and how she switched from calling me Momma to Mom because she is doing what her peers are doing.  I've had a hard time thinking about Caroline's future because I am overwhelmed by the day-to-day responsibilities of parenting her. Yet, as Charlotte passes the traditional milestones, and Caro rises to meet her own goals, I start to wonder what is ahead for both of them. 

Caro already sees our flaws. She naturally introverts into a world in which we do not belong, and never will. She definitely hates us!  She has let us down and we have disappointed her.  She makes some bad choices and most are the ones that have helped her grow. But I also wonder, will she get hurt and will she hurt others? Will she learn to drive? Will she travel? Will she get a part-time job? Will she love someone romantically? What will she do after high school? Will she live with us or be able to live independently? Will she enjoy a long-term relationship? Will she start a family? Where will Andy and I fit in? What will she be able to do by herself and when will she still need us? I birthed her, fed her, washed her, rocked her, wiped away her tears, helped her learn to ride a bike and swim. I have cared about nothing above her. And I just want her to have the choice to leave me, and some days, not think of me or need me, and I need that, and she needs that, but it is still hard. Writing these words and acknowledging these facts makes me cry as I long for something I will never have. I made the long, dark ride home tonight, thankful that the predicted ice storm never made it to us. The lights were on when I pulled into the driveway but nobody was home. Andy and the girls had run to the grocery store to pick up a few items for dinner. With no babies to tend to, and dinner already in the works, I, once again, had a few moments to myself. I grabbed a snack and scrolled my Facebook page. A friend posted a cartoon short, "Mister and Me" by Jason Platt. In the cartoon, a dad and his kid are building a snowman. The kid asks, "Hey Dad, what is the best part of being a Dad?" The dad replies, "Oh that's easy. Watching you grow up." As they put the finishing touches on the snowman, the kid asks, "What's the hardest part?" The dad lifts the kid onto his shoulders and replies, "Watching you grow up."