Motherhood is mania personified. Truly. One second I’m pulling my hair out, desperately wondering when getting W dressed will no longer require chasing and tackling. The next second, silent tears of pride stain my cheeks as he proudly pulls his own undies up and down to go potty.
And this week’s mania?
W started his first art class where (soon) he’ll be in the class all.by.him.self. [GASP] It was terrifyingly adorable. Miniature chairs, tiny smocks and paint splattered masterpieces mixed with a little bit of sharing and learning his colors.
I faded into the background knowing that the goal was to soon leave him there alone. I was just a silent (and proud) observer of his little personality filling the room and coming through loud and clear…a whole lot of spark and persistence, a little bit of antsy curiosity and a lot of kindness for his new buddies.
And not always in a bad way. But exhausting in a cathartic sense. The other side of extreme joy and pride is seriously just as tiring as the other side of panic. And I know a little bit about panic. Like the mild panic I feel as I think about actually leaving him alone at his art class in the coming weeks…
But the day will come. It will happen. Eventually. And whether I’m ready or not, there will always be another milestone fading away in the rearview mirror…another one appearing on the horizon. A never ending lesson in letting go.
But real talk, this road toward a more independent child is a nail-biter of a ride for those of us in the driver’s seat. It’s bumpy and paved with chaos, but it’s a scenic drive splashed with tiny moments of triumph, exhaustion, lots of joy and a few spilled bottles of paint. Oops.
But the passenger seat? Well, that’s a different story. Let’s just say that my little co-pilot seems to be thoroughly enjoying every second of this hectic ride and happens to love speed bumps. The more the better. The bigger the better.
No wonder I’m starting to go gray…