Confession #7

I don't think I will survive my childrens' adolescence.

I was OK at mothering babies. They were kept warm (enough). They were breastfed. I didn't give them solids or sugar until the recommended ages. They had their immunizations and check ups. They were loved and cuddled and talked to and read to.

I loved the toddler years. Watching them get so exicted over discovering the simplest of things. Hearing their little voices form words and sentences and GREAT BIG IDEAS. Seeing their eyes light up when I came home from work or even back into the room they were in from doing laundry. Ahhhhh, that was such a great age. And still there was reading and cuddling and hugging.

The school age years were good. I adored every page of turtles or princesses drawn in marker with chicken scratch writing. I applauded each new nugget of knowledge about dinosaurs and space and how honey is made. I basked in the sound of their voices as they struggled through their first reading of The Cat in the Hat. I even survived my baby girl's chemo and procedure after procedure after procedure. Through all of it we were there together: reading, loving, talking, enjoying each other's company.

Now things are different. I cannot predict the moods of these two. If I sense something is wrong and I ask about it. I am usually rudely dismissed. I am considered an embarrassment. I am begged to be "normal"... don't say this.... PLEASE don't do that. Worst of all there is no reading. No cuddling. Little Hugging. I take the bits and pieces of talking they throw my way and treasure them. I linger over each and every hug. Savoring the seconds. Because it may be days before I am granted another. I want so badly to interact more. To enjoy more. To be more involved. But most nights we sit in separate rooms doing separate things... TV, ipod, computer, treadmill. We do come together for dinner. It takes about 10 minutes, maybe 15. I am holding on to it for as long as possible.

Someone recently told me that this distance, this void between parent and child is nature's way of sending the child out into the world on their own. And that makes sense to me. After all, if they stayed as sweet and wonderful as 4 year olds, and never stopped seeing me as the center of their universe, I would never be able to let them go.