I catch them more often these days:
A 10-year-old boy in the library, curled up reading, oblivious to the children (three of them mine) playing and running around him.
A mother dropping off her children–all of them–at school in the morning and getting back into her minivan. Alone.
My son on a playdate that lasts through dinner.
The changes and growth of children–all children–are suddenly more at the center of my vision. I see other families whose children's lives are starting to take on their own directions. I spend (a little) more time with just a subset of all of my children home at one time. The calmness of dinner with only four of us at the table strikes me. The stillness of the air downstairs as all three play together upstairs. The one morning a week that I have just one child to care for. The knowledge that it’s coming: the days of more independence for my children. And for me.
I was stopped in my tracks by the wisdom of a good friend the other day. This happens more and more, as I get deeper into motherhood and find myself with fewer and fewer answers. “He’s so young. He’s still a baby,” she said about my oldest boy, nearing 7. She’s right, of course. He is young. He is in the babyhood of what I hope will be a very long life. I expect so much from him. And from me. I expect too much from us both, probably. I could stand to pause more often. To find more patience. To have a tiny bit more confidence that all of the mistakes I’ve made and am making are going to be overshadowed by the bigger picture of loving.
It’s all going so fast, really. Even these drawn out days of winter. Inside with five family members, never all content at once. But then, sometimes there are only four now. Sometimes it’s just me and one child. And all of the time one of my children is demanding more independence in some way.
I wonder. Will I ever find the balance of embracing the now and looking to the future? Or will I always feel in flux, grasping a bit for knowledge and confidence and patience, full of pride but scared that my children won’t grow up to fulfill their every potential. Scared that–already, in far too many ways–they already have.
--
Originally published in February 2011