I wrote this some months ago, thinking of submitting it here or there. It never seemed fully cohesive, but I’ve come to a stand-still on how to improve it. So here it is, unfinished, but meaningful to me. It’s time I let it go.
I was overcome.
In an instant, I was overcome with thoughts and fears and hopes and dreams, and overwhelmed by the flood of emotions.
I saw my little ones for what they would become… Independent. Whole. Grown. I saw them that moment not needing me anymore. Not wanting to hold my hand, or worse, preferring to hold someone else’s instead.
The tears came then, even as I strapped my baby into his car seat. His brother was dancing around the room, chanting the name of the cousin we were off to see. That dancing boy wasn’t as clumsy, and he spoke more clearly. What had happened to my barely toddling, nonsense-jabbering baby? He is still there, the same chubby smile beneath the same blue eyes. But so many things are different. The mixed emotions of pride in his growth and sadness in his disappearing babyhood flooded me at the same time. Excitement mingled with nostalgia is the feeling that replaced the months of tiredness mingled with nausea.
I know that when I have a baby, he won’t stay that way. I’m not surprised by the growth and the change. It’s actually the fun part, discovering alongside them, helping them learn and talk and walk and become a little more self-sufficient each day. But there’s a sadness, too, and sometimes, some days, I’m overcome by it. I need to shed a few tears for the baby they’ve left behind, because all I’ll have is memories of that little round face, bald head, or chubby hand. But I will have gained a runner, a cook, a hugger, and a singer. I’ll have a new friend, a hilarious joker, a brave and athletic boy, a smart and sensitive girl. I am glad for the shift. I am glad for the change. But that doesn’t mean I won’t miss the past.
This post is part of my NaBloPoMo, where I publish a piece each day in November.