In the morning, you smell of Strawberry Puffs and possibility. We nurse and cuddle (a bit) before your brain tells you that, hey I’m a baby, it’s time to move up and move out. And you do. You are so close to walking that I’m googling weird things like, “What happens next?” and “What did I forget to babyproof?” and “How to slow time?”
It’s not that I want to slow time, Bee, because truly, I don’t. We both know the baby stage isn’t my favorite and I’m looking forward to crafternoons and play dates and mornings where I’m not all edgy because I can’t get you to stop climbing into the trash can.
But then, Bee, there will be mornings where I’m all edgy because you’re refusing pants of all kinds. Or you kicked your brother in the face. Or you forgot to give me that permission slip, or text before curfew, or email when your flight lands.
Or call when the baby’s coming.
Spoiler alert, Bee: I will always be edgy. (I’m working on it.) I’m a ball of string, wound tightly and tangled in masses. And there are moments when you tighten my string and I tense up – stressed and anxious – bounding my heart so that I can’t breathe deeply, like those straightjackets you used to wear that we called “swaddles” because it sounded more CPS-approved.
But oh, Bee, there are days when you untangle me. You Houdini your tiny fingers into the deepest knots of my soul, pulling and tugging until I’m free of my fears and doubts that taint this beautiful journey of motherhood. And just like that, I’m untethered – tied to nothing else but you and your Strawberry Puff scent.
To fly a kite, you have to face the wind and pull the string tightly, making sure you have a good grip. You do this for a bit, pulling and releasing and waiting and hoping, and then suddenly the wind catches and there’s this moment you feel in your soul – this push to release the string ever so slightly and to watch the kite fly higher and higher into the sky.
Bee, I promise to release the string someday. It’s the least I can do, right? You’ve already released mine.