Author: Becky

People who don’t understand–other parents even–say, “He’s ready,” and “He’ll do fine!”

And I know this. But that is not the point today.

Yes, he is ready. Yes, he will do fine. He can read at almost the same level as his older brother. He is a social kid who loves to be around other kids. He loves to talk and is quick with funny, quirky one-liners that make adults laugh. He follows the rules, even if he scoffs them at home.

I know he will do “fine.”

The tears are more for me than him, anyway.

After FIFTEEN years of busyness: working out of the home and coordinating childcare, having my office at home and shuffling meetings, dealing with doctor appointments, preschool parties, playdates, everything…. It all just… ENDS.

When you’re busy with babies, toddlers and preschoolers, the days feel like they may never end. Crazy mornings stretch into long afternoons with bedtimes that can’t come soon enough. You can’t even think straight through all the chaos. You wish for a day without clinging kids, or at least just a little quiet.

And then you get it.

And you realize, even if you don’t want to go back to those hectic days, even though this is a good thing, those days are gone. You can’t wish them back.
I know this.

So, I have to dry my tears and get ready for this new chapter. The one where I’m the mother to only Big Kids.

Recently we were on vacation when my daughter had several seizures, which is a heart-wrenching experience for a mother to witness. This started a round of hospital visits. Monday afternoon we finished up an MRI and EEG, done for the purpose of diagnosing Lydia with epilepsy. It felt like a relief to have jumped that hurdle and for us to be able to move forward.

But no sooner had I gotten messages out to family that we would have to wait several days for the final test results than the next thing happened.

The burgers were not even off the grill for dinner Monday night when panicked screams came from Henry in the backyard. He had fallen from a swing and broke his arm, snapping both the ulna and radius forearm bones. He had to be sedated for the doctor to set the bones and put on a cast, with the warning that he may still need surgery for the arm to heal correctly.

So, Monday had me sitting in hospitals for nine hours, first with Lydia and then Henry.

You try to be a good parent. You want to sacrifice a part of yourself to protect your kids. You dream of putting your kids in a magic bubble to keep them safe.You try to not make the same mistakes twice. You try to teach your kids the lessons you had to learn the hard way. You want to make life easier for them.

As parents, we freeze. We stop living. We think that if we can do this or control that, we’ll keep the bad stuff away, our family will be safe and happy. But the only thing it really does is keep us from truly being happy ourselves.

And, like all parents, I am reminded that I can’t stop life from happening. My youngest will go off to kindergarten this fall, whether I want him to or not. My oldest will be taking driver’s ed as she gets ready to get her license, even if I’m not ready for her to drive.

Things happen. Things change. Wounds heal, pain goes away, life goes on.

You realize there is never a good time. There is never a time when you can count on everything being calm.

And if I try to make things easy or think I can stop my kids from hurting, life will step in to remind me I’m not in charge. It’s not up to me. I can’t control life.

You can’t wait for the right time for things because it never comes. There is not a perfect time. You can’t hope to keep things easy or neat. There is not a magic bubble.

Life is messy. And hard. You can’t protect your kids from everything.

And the real kicker is: They don’t even want you to.

I can’t prevent my kids from ever feeling pain. No one can. And we all need to embrace that.

Living in fear of the next big disaster only stops us from living. We have to move forward even if it’s with just the hope that everything will be okay, that it works out in the end.

We owe it to our kids, to ourselves.

So I hug my babies and keep them close while I can.

I tell them I love them.

And I promise myself I’ll catch up on sleep later.