Milestones

My dear, sweet, perfect Luna starts school this year. She has stayed home with me as long as I can let her stay, and now it’s time for her to take the next step in her life and go to school.

There’s something definitive about this next step. The first chapter of her life is coming to a close, and the next chapter is beginning. She has grown beyond the stage where she is home with her mama all the time, exploring who she is in the safety of home, learning the very basics of how to be a human.

Now it’s time for her to level up. She’s going to learn how she fits into a larger puzzle. It’s time for her to learn how to socialize, to expand her world with knowledge and new types of interactions with new people; teachers, peers, other adults.

I’m terrified.

I’ve given her so much love and put so much energy into showing her how precious and wonderful she is, teaching her that she is important, that her emotions are valid, that she is deserving of love and respect. I’m terrified to send her out into a world that has little regard for others, is horribly close-minded, and would stamp out her light for the smallest of reasons.

No, I don’t have much faith in the world. And I don’t trust that her teacher will do a good job teaching her and her fellow students. In fact, I anticipate the need to undo the damage the teacher will do.

Watching her grow through difficult emotions and helping her navigate the treacherous waters of society is terrifying to me. I want to keep her happy in her wonderful world where everyone around her wants the very, very best for her in all things.

I know I can’t. I know she has to start on this next part of her journey.

But it’s still scary.

I’m also sad.

I’m sure every parent in the world can relate to this because we all go through it. We have these perfect little smushes that we cherish and care for. They’re so squishy and perfect and fragile and wonderful, and they frustrate the hell out of you because you can’t really communicate yet, but they also make you radiate with love and joy.

And suddenly they’re tiny versions of full-sized people, and you’re left with a severe juxtaposition of immense love and joy and pride for the little person they have become while simultaneously missing the squishy little bundle of joy/poop/tears/screams/love you welcomed into the world a few short years ago.

It is the strangest sensation in the world, to know and love someone so fiercely while also loving and missing who they used to be just as fiercely.

And so it is for me with my kids. I experienced this with Dmitry’s son, Matt. I met Matt when he was only 20 months old. We were a family until he was 8, and I helped raise him during all that time. The toddling baby who stole my pizza and put his blueberry-filled mouth on my arm the first time we met became a “big kid.”

The baby boy who fell asleep in my arms at naptime while I sang lullabies to him grew out of naps. The babbling toddler who no one could fully understand besides his mother and me went to school and learned how to read, reading Transformer comics to me instead of the other way around.

He’s grown up into a wonderful boy, and I love that. But I miss who he was, who he will never be again. And it’s the same for his sister, worse even since I got so much more time with her. Matt and I were close when he was a toddler, but we didn’t have nearly as much time together as Luna and I have, which makes this even harder this time around.

She will never be the tiny baby she was ever again. She will never babble like a baby or unsteadily walk around the house on teensy weensy legs again. She will never be obsessed with Octonauts or Masha and the Bear the way she used to be. She’ll never play with her toys and want to play the kinds of games she used to enjoy the way she did as a tiny tot again.

It’s crazy to miss someone who is standing right in front of you. Someone you know very well but who has changed so much so fast that you can hardly keep up.

She will never have her first day of school ever again.

And I wouldn’t miss it for anything.

I’m reeling. And I am sad.

In spite of all of this, I am happy.

She is excited, and she is happy, and she is looking forward to all the things she will learn, all the friends she will make, all the fun she will have. And I am happy to see her light up the way she does when she is excited and happy. I am happy that there is another element that is entering her life which will bring her joy and fulfillment. I am happy she gets to continue growing through an avenue that I can’t provide for her.

As her mother, I am scared and worried and anxious and sad.

As her friend, I am happy and proud and excited and delighted.

When I think about how much I need to forge my own path and do life my way, I see the importance of this. Luna has a healthy amount of independence already — she wants to try things on her own, insists that she doesn’t need help, and reassures me that she will come back home to me whenever I tell her I will be sad and miss her when she starts school. This girl is ready to fly the nest.

I have to let her branch off and explore, that is the only way she can grow. It pains me as her mother because instinctively, I know she will get hurt, and I don’t want to see that happen. But as her biggest supporter and cheerleader, I am excited to see how she takes off.

In the same way that I as an individual expect to be allowed to explore and experience the world for myself, Luna deserves the same privilege. I think about how my own parents will encourage me to an extent while still trying to keep me very close to them, which feels very stifling at times. And on the other hand, my sisters and my best friends offer unfettered encouragement. I want to offer Luna the same unfettered encouragement that my closest friends offer me.

Because I want to be her closest friend. Or one of them.

I don’t want her to hold back from me someday and not tell me about something she dreams of doing because she’s afraid I will try to talk her out of it. I don’t want her to hide her aspirations from me because she’s worried I will try to guilt her into staying close to me and playing it safe.

I’ve learned hard lessons, and I am sure I have many more to learn. I’ve had huge wins in my life too, though, with many more on the way. Whether or not my parents can get on board because they’re too afraid to let me go too far away.

I don’t want to be that for Luna. I want her to know that if she wants to move to Spain to go to school or for a kickass job or just to experience a different culture, I will feel exactly how I feel right now:

As her mother, I will be scared and worried and anxious and sad.

As her friend, I will be happy and proud and excited and delighted.

And although right now my hand is a bit forced since she is required to go to school, I am choosing to let the second set of emotions be my primary ones. Because to be honest, I could have homeschooled her. And I didn’t. Because I know she needs this, and this is better for her. This is natural and healthy.

Even if it’s scary and sad for me.

Besides, allowing fear to govern my life or her life won’t do either of us any good. Better to let the fear serve as a warning klaxon when there’s actual danger while letting the joy and excitement take their rightful place and speak louder.

I’m not gonna lie — I had a good cry while I wrote all of that, especially the bit about how Matt and Luna will never be the perfect little humans they used to be since they’ve morphed into the perfect little humans they are now.

It felt good to allow myself to explore all of these emotions though. I’m sure all of the emotions will still hit me on her first day, though, and I suppose I will cry.

But now I have something to fall back on. I firmly know that this is necessary and healthy for Luna and for me as well. Because I choose to take the role of the supportive best friend who is cheering Luna on every step of the way. And in order to do that, I need to practice letting her go more and more, further and further from the nest.

So have fun, my dear Luna. Be safe while you have fun, sweetheart. And the second you need your mama, call me, and I will come running.

Love, Mama ♥

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Two things!

One, please note that the names of everyone in this blog have been altered to protect the people I write about. My main goal is to explore my experiences and my growth, not air anyone’s dirty laundry out. Any likeness to people you know in real life are probably coincidental. (I mean what are the chances? It’s a pretty big world!)

Two, the thoughts and opinions I express in this blog are merely a result of my personal experiences to this point in my life. If there is anything I have misrepresented, overlooked, or have a blind spot for, feel free to leave a comment or email me at contact@livingbetween.net. (Yes, this includes typos. Let me fix my typos, please!) All I ask is that you always remain respectful.

Talk soon!
– Lynda –