Today was both a celebration and a gut punch. Being a mother is so extremely rewarding but, as a part of the reward for doing your job, you are reminded that your job is to make your children independent, strong, and not need you-or, at least, not always need you.
First the triumph-because I'll pretend that I have had a lot to do with that. My sweet, courageous daughters have been attending a cheering/tumbling camp this week, during school vacation. They are taking chances and doing things they've been scared to do and today my youngest (6 years old) volunteered to be in a contest and performed jumps and cartwheels in front of the whole camp-all of whom are older kids than her. That BLEW MY MIND. My eldest was tirelessly working to improve-hit her back handspring, perfect her cartwheel, learn new techniques so that she can be the best team mate she can be. I was the kid in high school who loved singing but constantly talked myself out of really auditioning for anything other than the chorus in the school musical (except for senior year). I was so scared of giving the wrong answer that I didn't raise my hand in class and I always chose my social life over really applying myself-just because I thought I couldn't do it. Then, here are my amazing daughters who have been just exceeding, addressing things, and volunteering to do extra. They are challenging themselves, they are accomplishing things, and they don't realize what a huge deal it is. They are not afraid! I don't know where that comes from. I am so in awe of what they have inside of their souls and can't even imagine where they will end up with that kind of courage. Imagine, if all of the girls weren't afraid to tackle math problems or climb mountains or be doctors or study climate change, the economy, be president. Imagine a GENERATION of Michelle Obamas, Hilary Clintons, Annie Oakleys. My job is to keep nourishing that flame and to encourage them to always be brave.
Now the flip side of the coin. I had heard rumours from an unnamed source that my 9 year old was really working hard to stop calling me mommy, and to start calling me mom. Tonight she was reading a book to her sister, and was replacing "mommy" with "mom" the whole way through. I went in to the room, intending to just tell her that I understood, that I remembered that thought, and as I was saying it, I started crying because I realize that it's time. She is growing up. She is closer to being a teen than a toddler, and is halfway to adulthood. I smiled at her, told her that I understood, that I was sorry I was crying, but that I understood. I told her that it was okay with me if she called me "mom" it wouldn't hurt my feelings, but that she could call me "mommy" whenever she wanted. We both cried, we both hugged, the six year old started crying, said that she still wanted to call me "mommy." One of us made a fart joke, we laughed about all the silly ways you can say "mommy" and I left the room with them giggling over Pinkalicious together.
That's the way of motherhood. The bittersweet, working-your-way-out-of-a-job reality of parenting. If you do it right, they're constantly challenging themselves, reaching out, yet strengthening those wings to leave the nest some day. I will always encourage them to stretch and grow, even as it makes me want to cling tighter and pull them back. For now, though, we'll just try to make it through the tween angst, teen rebellion, and I'll sit in awe of the women they're becoming.
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