Hello and goodbye

When we bring our babies home from the hospital or lay them in that bassinet for the first time after a home birth, we are suddenly very aware of something that never occurred to us before. Fear. Or more specifically, fear of losing this little person who, in the instant it took to draw his or her first breath, forever caught our own breath in our throats. The all encompassing love and protectiveness that instantly emerges, is somewhat of a mystery, as though those qualities were birthed right along with the child. What other time in your life had you ever known you would have the strength to stand up to any size foe, if it meant saving your child?

And so we take such care. We make sure the blanket isn’t swaddled around his little nose. We lay her on her back to sleep and tiptoe into her room every hour to make sure she’s still breathing. And before we know it, they’re too big to be swaddled. So, we set about latching cabinets, covering electrical outlets, pushing on the baby gate with all our might to make absolutely sure it won’t budge.

Months turn to years and precautions take on new meaning. You’re reminding your preschooler to stay close to you in the store, that we don’t jump off the couch, and that they must wear their seatbelt before the car will begin to move.

Still, on they grow and the warnings and worries become more intense. You find yourself having those dreaded talks about strangers and safe-touch. You layer him in knee and elbow pads and a helmet to protect that smart little brain of his. You blow up floaties til you’re blue in the face, so she’ll survive her first attempts at swimming and go on to become the Olympic swimmer you dream she’ll be someday. You tell them over and over and over again what to do in an emergency, from how to dial 9-1-1 or push the Onstar button to what not to run back for if the house is on fire.

When they were still in our bellies, life seemed so simple. Eat healthy, get some rest, decorate the nursery and enjoy all the cute little gifts. We never expected that expecting would lead to such anguish the moment that beautiful baby was placed in our arms.

We document every single moment of significance, first smile, first time eating bananas, first steps, first words, first day of kindergarten, the day the training wheels came off, the first dance recital. And in between, we cherish every giggle, silly face, hilarious comment, endearing hug.

Sure, we worry. We plan and maneuver and purchase and warn and prepare, all in an attempt to protect them, all the while conscious of what we are really protecting: our own hearts.

For it is our biggest fear, the one nobody wants to talk about, no one dare voice. For you know that if you ever lost this child, you could not go on. You could not breathe. The you that you are, would cease to exist.

And yet, the sneaky thing about motherhood is, in the midst of all this protecting - them and ourselves, we don’t even realize that we are already losing them. Little by little, with every milestone that we document, with every birthday party we plan, every school supply list we fulfill, they are leaving us.

Sure, we knew going into this that they would grow up. We say that we want them to become good citizens, responsible adults.

And yet, we deceive ourselves. For to send them off, to wish them well, to be proud of them, is a trade we aren’t really ready to make.

For in a sense, we are accepting a death, to make way for a new life. Look at him, tossled hair, Oreo cookie crumbs on his mouth, action figures spread out around him. Look at her, tiara on her head, stuffed animals nestled around her on the floor, tiny cups filled with pretend tea. Hear his laughter, her sweet “I love you, Mommy.”

Who among us is ready to say goodbye to them? For if you think about it, someday, they will be gone. Oh sure, they will grow up to be amazing people, and you’ll probably be good friends. But, those little voices, those silly laughs, the cute drawings and too-small hugs will be gone. The little people that they are right this very minute, the ones that you love so much it hurts, will be gone. And all you’ll have is memories.

It’s not fair, this mothering thing. There are so many things we think we know going in, only to find out we had no idea what we were thinking. For when that baby was placed in our arms, even if we sort of knew he or she was not ours to keep forever, we had no idea how much we would love them, at every single phase, and how hard it would be to keep saying goodbye. For with every new accomplishment, every updated photo on the wall, we have to say goodbye again and again - to the person they were, just three months ago, just last week, just yesterday.

So, it seems, that from the moment we say hello, we are also saying goodbye. I don’t know about you, but I’m not sure I would have signed up for this if I’d known how much grief would be intermingled with the joy. But then, none of us would be here if all the terms were laid out in large print.

All I know is that for now, I’m going to turn up the volume on the baby monitor, charge up the camcorder, and buy a bigger memory card for the digital camera. Oh, and step away from this computer.

But don’t worry, I’ll be back...maybe when they’re sleeping, or maybe right after I watch them sleep for a while....

I'm not afraid of you, 40

Okay, so not too long ago, it finally happened. I’d been a bit dazed and confused for a while, but I think I’m ready to talk about it. Well, maybe I better lie down first....

Alright, it’s like this: When I was busy having 52 separate conversations with children and mopping up spills and stocking up stuff for Christmas, it snuck up on me, the big 4-0.

I woke up one day and I was in my 30's, still feeling youthful and like I had a lifetime to accomplish all my dreams. And then, the clock struck midnight and just like that, life as I knew it was over.

Suddenly, I seemed sooooo much older than my husband, who won’t catch up to me for about a year. Calculations of how old I’d be when my children graduate high school began to dance in my head. Percentages such as how much of my life was most likely past, popped up in my morning’s first thoughts. I began to survey our debt, our retirement savings, the 5 year plans I never made, the length of time it takes to accomplish certain goals and all sorts of formulas for achieving the life I’ve always wanted started to swirl around my head like dizzying stars to a concussion. Calculations, percentages, formulas; for a girl who was never good at math, 40 had sure done a number on me!

But then, once my heart settled into a normal rate, I realized something. My 30's sucked. Oh sure, my children were born, I found a great house, I had some good times, but in between those brief moments of pleasure were four surgeries, two rounds of physical therapy, numerous deaths, a miscarriage, a company closure, financial nightmares, two car accidents, marital difficulties, Cancer, and I’m sure other things which I have just resorted to repressing due to overload. It’s no wonder all of this led to the Adrenal Gland Fatigue I now have to overcome as I enter into the next decade.

So, though I may be starting out tired, it is my sincere hope that this decade will be kinder. Though my children will no doubt try every ounce of strength and energy that I have, my budget will not instantly have wiggle room, and I’ll be stuck with the label “Cancer Patient” until I’m on the eve of the next decade up from here, I’m choosing to believe that this will be the time in my life when I finally get it all together.

These will be the years when I stop finding little scraps of paper or computer files journaling my feelings, only to find that I’m still feeling the same way 10 years later! These will be the years when I do something about it, instead of just talking. This will be the time when I see long-held dreams come into reality, the time in my life when I can be proud of the lessons of determination that I will model for my children. These will be the years when I get into shape, physically and mentally. I will somehow prevail over this financial beast that has been gnawing at my heels for way too long. I will fight back. I will rise up and give my 30's a good hard kick in the teeth.

I’m not sure where I will find all this gumption, but I’m certain that it’s out there, or within me, to be found. So, I will press on, and maybe with all of you marching beside me, I’ll feel stronger than I ever have. Then, when it’s your turn to face the 40 monster, or 50 or 60 - or shoot, maybe you’re still just worried about 30 (I remember that one!), I’ll be ready to take your hand and pull you through that door of the unknown, and by then, I’ll be able to show you around a bit.

So, 40, I’m not afraid of you! If I can survive the 30's I had, I could probably survive in the wilderness with nothing but a thimble and a scouring pad. But, I might need to lie here for a while first....