In nine months, my kids will be in school.
Nine months was a long time when I was pregnant, but it's a nanosecond now.
Funny how things change.
Kids, not babies. In school.
Sure it's preschool, but it's still a few hours totally away from me.
I had a taste of it this weekend when we left them at holiday childcare for three hours so we could run errands and such. We totally trusted the people with whom they were staying--and the kids knew and loved them so that wasn't a problem either. But within about an hour, I was thinking about them and actually nervous that they weren't around.
And it's not like I didn't have distractions--we had a marvelous New Haven pizza lunch. But I didn't want to run errands--already feeling edgy and faraway--so we headed home to do some chores. And instead I tried to nap on the couch, which didn't really help. In the end, I woke DP early to go get the kiddos.
Who were fine. No, more than fine. Grand. They were having a grand ol' time. They'd made ornaments and wreaths and other holiday doo-dads. DS was apparently transfixed by glitter and had the caregivers fill his clear ornament ball with as much glitter as it would hold. He also directed them on what to put on his wreath and helped them punch holes in stars to string up. DD worked on her own ornaments and wreaths, too, but became a little upset when she and DS were separated during storytime (DS stayed behind to string more stars). But all's well that ends well--they had cookies and apples and were playing "Star Wars" (ah, second generation!) with the older kids when we got there. As the shortest members of the troop, they had been designated Ewoks.
And they did it all by themselves.
And so, a rarity occurred: I heard other people tell me about my kids, about what they'd done that I hadn't seen. In fact, it started even before I entered the building, with a friend commenting on how well they did. I was, of course, relieved. But the appearance of the holiday projects really brought it all home--I mean, these were the first art projects they've done without me--they were growing up and away.
Which is, of course, exactly what I want. I don't want dependent little kids who can't be away from mommy, anymore than I want to be the mommy who can't be separated from the kids. But two and a half years of togetherness is a hard habit to break. I was so glad to see them and so proud that they'd been happy without me. But so sad to think that this was going to be the way of it from now on. Or from September on. I still have a few months to get used to it. I'm not even sure what "it" is, so surprised am I by my reaction (and I cry just about everytime I think of it). Mind you, it's not that I haven't left them before. I'm gone a few hours each week for physical therapy and leave them with their babysitter, who has been with us for almost as long as the kids. But that's in our home and I have a good sense of what they're doing.
It sounds like I don't have any boundaries, any self-differentiation from the kids, or whatever the clinical term would be. I'm not one of those moms who lives through her kids, even if right now every aspect of my life revolves around them. They came into this world with characters--wants and desires, attitudes and tendencies--and are their own people. My role as mommy is to help guide those characters through the experiences that life throws at them, to support strengths and encourage weaknesses. They aren't extensions of me, anymore than DP is an extension of me. We're all individuals in a family.
They just haven't been this individual before. Individuals who made these gorgeous holiday wreaths by themselves that I am going to treasure for the rest of my days . . . as I watch and celebrate as they grow up, into themselves.
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