Separation Anxiety

Separation anxiety. Every mother has been through it and doesn’t wish it on her worst enemy. At about eight to ten months of age until 2, your baby starts a painful stage of development.

 When Sofia was a toddler she became increasingly attached to me day after day, as I met her needs on a regular basis. When I'd leave her at daycare, she'd suddenly start crying. Big tears would roll down her chubby cheeks, and her lower lip would roll out and quiver. I sensed her anxiousness, and that parental instinct kicked in. I'd reach out to take her back in my arms and with comforting words whisper that I was near. She'd calm down as I'd wipe away the tears and the snot. Then she turned back into the happy girl I knew. I'd hand her over to another pair of arms and she'd wind up again like a siren. She'd do the “back arch” move and fling her head back in discontent. 

So anyway, this is was a taste of my experience with separation anxiety. 

There’s good and bad news about it.

First- The good news was that I'd come to realize that I’d done nothing wrong. (This was my second child and it took me this long to understand that). I'd get to the point sometimes where I’d just wait for Child Protective Services to ring my doorbell and whisk her away to the “perfect mommy”. I sit and rack my brain trying to figure out why my child was so “pissed off”. The “I’m-a-bad-mother” emotions would start to flow along with my adrenalin and I'd dp practically anything to make things better and to keep her calm. Now, If you’re employed outside the home like I am and leave your baby in the arms of another, you are not making it worse or better. If you are a stay-at-home parent you are not making it worse or better. It is a stage of development as natural as learning to walk.

After much research, I come to find that my child was actually experiencing a burst of development in two areas. Sofia was experiencing more long-term memory, or what experts call cognitive growth. What was once “out of sight out of mind” is now out of sight and still in mind. The thought of me leaving her sight was causing her grief.

I couldn't even use the toilet without my little Sofia sitting on my lap. Now, you can get a visual of how this worked:

I'd sit on the toilet with the bathroom door open, she'd sit on my lap where she could view the T.V. and watch The Teletubbies while I (with precision, mind you) read a magazine. As soon as she'd hear the toilet paper roll start to unravel, she'd start to hyperventilate because she knew I'd have to take her off my lap for a minute. This is when Scream Fest 2004 began.

She was quite sensitive to the comings and goings of the important people in her life. She was also progressing in her social skills. While she needed me, she also wanted to separate from me. This inner conflict of dependence versus independence and learning to separate can be quite troubling. The bad news was that separation anxiety had to take its sweet time to blossom, wither, and pass away. ThenI had to look forward to it blooming again when she was three (Mia went through it at 3) and even as a kindergartner. Just thinking about it drains me.

During that "phase" my husband, Charlie had to go out of town for 3 weeks. So not only was I dealing with a hysterical toddler, I had to be “sane mommy” for my 5 year-old, Mia and my 2 dogs. I’d be lying if I said things went hunky dory…to put it in a nutshell, they almost became orphan children. Granted, they missed daddy and Christmas was right around the corner, but waking up at the crack of dawn and trying to get them used to a routine sans daddy was not easy.

 

Let me give you a taste of how a typical Monday went back then:

 

3:16 a.m.: Sofia wakes up. I grab a pacifier, lay her in my bed and she falls back asleep.                                                                                                                           

5:15 a.m.: I wake up and see that both of my little ones are still fast asleep. I’m elated! I will actually get to take a few minutes to apply make-up and wear something unwrinkled! I tip toe to the bathroom and even before I flick the light switch, I hear Sofia start to cry.                                                                                             

5:20 a.m: Exhaustion is the reflection I see in the mirror…this will be the onset of a tough morning.                                                                                                                              

5:25 a.m: I change her diaper, give her milk and lay her back down, she flings her bottle across the room and sits up and starts to whine.                                                                                                                                                 

5:35 a.m: I convince myself that she’ll be ok and that she’ll stop crying. I start to get ready. Her crying reaches indescribable decibels. I’m sure people on the neighboring continent can hear her. Frustration starts to set in. I try to tune her out as I do my hair. With every spritz of hairspray, her crying increases. She hates me. If she could talk, I’m sure she’d tell me to go to hell and throw up the middle finger.                                                                                                                                            

5:45 a.m.: I finally pick Sofia up and attempt to console her. She lays her head on my shoulder and snuggles up to me. Guilt starts to seep through my veins. I think to myself, “Geez, Sandra, this is all she wanted!! Work can wait! This is more important! Who cares if you’re late?! Who cares if you have one eye of mascara and no deodorant?!”                                                                                                                                 

6:00 a.m.: Mia must have felt for me because she was the perfect little 5 year-old. She got herself dressed, brushed her hair and fed the dogs.                                                                                               

6:15 a.m.: I try to sit Sofia down next to me on the couch so I could put my shoes on. She has the death grip on my neck. I pry her off me, I pluck her fingernails out of my trachea and place her next to me. Oh yes.. I set off the “tantrum” button. I quickly get up, grab her and get her jacket on, Mia’s jacket on, put the dogs in the laundry room, lock up the gate, then realized I forgot my purse.                                                                                                                         

6:45 a.m: I unlock the baby gate, grab my purse, and the diaper bag and a snack bag. Sofia is in my right arm. All other bags hang off my left arm. I am sweating bullets. I look like a frickin’ human Christmas tree. Then.. The phone rings.                                                                                                

7:00 a.m.: I thrown everything but Sofia on the floor, unlock the gate again and grab the phone. It’s my husband, Charlie. “Hey you! How are things going?!”                                                                      

7:01 a.m.: I start to cry. Sofia starts to cry. The dog starts to hump my leg.     

7:10 a.m.: FINALLY..everyone is in the car. I thrown on a Disney Princess DVD, give Sofia her bottle, Mia her snack and in less than 10 minutes..the Baumunk girls are fast asleep on their way to school. They look like angels.                                                                                                               

7:30 a.m.: I slowly take the 9mm away from my temple. Maybe life isn’t that bad. This is all a part of motherhood. I look over Mia’s head and through my passenger window and see the sunrise. I breathe and I thank God for my blessings. What a lucky woman I am.

 

What could be more rewarding??

 

And with that, my thoughts are soon answered…with a flying milk bottle hurled towards the back of my head.

 

Ahhhh..Motherhood.

The Rearview Mirror

I used to use my rearview mirror to adjust my make-up, fix my hair and yes, actually look at traffic behind me. Now that I’m a mom, it’s become more than just a “mirror”. It’s been a live motion camera that captures the very essence of my existence—my children.

We’re driving home and my daughter Mia (who was 5 at the time), pipes up,

“This is taking too long!”

I look back at her and reassure her that we would be home in no time.

“I’m not talking about home,” she says, “growing up is taking too long! I am tired of being little. It’s just taking too long!” 

I adjust my rearview mirror to see her sitting like a little lady next to her 1 year-old sister, Sofia. It seem like only yesterday she was in her rear-facing infant car seat gurgling away without a worry in the world. Reality hit me as I stared into her big, brown eyes from my rear view mirror. She was growing and I could actually see her maturing 5 year old face in my mirror…only 5 - not yet a “big kid” but no longer a toddler. When did that happen?! She had opinions now, she showed her emotions now and somehow I didn’t want that that to happen. I wanted to press the “slow motion” button and savor every moment of her being. I wanted to hold her little hands in mine and smell her sticky, strawberry cheeks..I wanted to savor her innocence and stunt her growth..

 But in this I have no say.

She is growing and moving away from me like the waves on a beach, slowly but with unstoppable momentum. Nothing I can do will stop the waves from coming.  With each lost tooth, each new word, every grade passed...another chapter in my daughter's childhood book closes forever. 

I don’t want it to end.

On her 4th birthday, Mia started to ride a “Big Girl” bicycle.  She decided she was done with the tricycle and spent a lot of time riding around in circles up and down the sidewalk. We spent the weekend running up and down the sidewalk right beside her, holding her by her seat as she fought for balance. Out of sheer exhaustion, I finally let her go...if she fell, she’d be ok. She had the Disney Princess helmet, gloves, knee & elbow pads to protect her. I was amazed and just a little sad, to see her ride down the block without me, not once looking back.

Her stroller, crib and high chair have been passed down to little Sofia. After she gets her use out of these items, they’ll be handed down to Goodwill and that era in our lives will be over. These items rendered obsolete overnight…reminders of how quickly babies grow to children and children grow to teenagers and teenagers leave home.

The day she learned to say “Mom” instead of “mah” nearly broke my heart.

I try not to be too sentimental about these things. Spring turns to Summer, kids grow up.

Believe me, the day I changed my final diaper went down as one of the most unequivocally happiest of my life. What can I say? Some stages are easier to let go than others. You can imagine how broken up I was when Mia stopped asking for Barney. (I kept Sofia away from PBS)

Honestly, i can't wait until she gives me one of those "Harvard Parent" car stickers or "I'm broke. My kid's at Princeton" stick-on.

 And yet.

Parents are meant to prepare their children for the outside world, to make them strong and independent. So why am I feeling left out because she doesn’t need me to dress her anymore? Or help her wipe her butt after using the toilet?

I look back into my rearview mirror and answer her...

“If you grew up too fast, mommy would be sad because we wouldn’t be able to enjoy all the fun things you can do as a little girl.” Somehow my answer seemed to suffice because she didn’t say a word. (Either that or she was just too pissed off that the drive was taking forever.)

I kept driving and once again I look back and re-adjust my rearview mirror to glance at my firstborn and look back at my toddler. I dread the day when that backseat will be empty. No empty juice boxes or Cheerios lying on the floor. No baby bottles or strollers.  All the half-naked Barbies and storybooks will have disappeared like the sticky fingerprint smudges on the glass windows.

 And I’m going to keep on adjusting my rearview mirror until that day comes…

20 Things I've Learned

The 20 Things I’ve learned as A Mother (so far)…

I’m going on 9 years of motherhood and I have to say that I’ve learned a lot so. Here are 20 of my favorite!

I’ve learned:

1. That no matter how many freakin’ toys you take with you on the airplane, it will never bee enough to satisfy your squirmy 2 year-old.
2. That even if you do wake up two hours early to get “pretty” for work, you still leave the house a sweaty mess with a stain or two on your blouse after a morning with the kids.  
3. That no matter how much your 7-year-old daughter tells you she likes the shoes you bought her; she will find a problem with them the day she has to wear them. And if it’s not the shoe, it’s the sock.
4. To expect your child to sleep soundly all the way up until you want to get romantic at 3:31am with your husband. At that point they are either standing at the side of your bed or whining in theirs.
5. That if there is anyone that can be honest about what you are wearing, ask your child. They will not only inform you about how good/bad you look, but will inquire about the jiggly-ness of your thighs and butt.
6. That no matter how long you’ve been a mother, boogers and barf will still nauseate you.
7. That you will forever call chicken strips, “Chicken McNuggets”. I call them McNuggets when I drive through Burger King and it seems to annoy the hell out of the drive-thru gal.
8. That whenever you ask your children what they want to eat, it’s always two things: I don’t know or Chicken McNuggets.
9. That they will always need to use the potty and have their butt wiped when you are in the middle of dinner.
10. That whatever restaurant you dine at, your youngest will need to check out the restroom as soon as you sit down.
11. That when you ask your 1^st grader if they have any homework the answer will always be “No” until the following morning when you are getting into the car and then they remarkably remember the crushed up math sheet in their backpack.
12. That when you pick up your kids from school and ask them what they did that day the answer will always be, “Nothing”. If they feel like volunteering any information it will be when you least expect it.
13. That your kids could be model children all day along but as soon as you pick up that phone to make a call, it will trigger fights, whining and unnecessary needs.
14. That your kids will feed your dog anything and everything he will open his mouth to. (Including floss…and that’s not a pretty sight to see mommy reeling out the floss from Sammy’s butt flower.)
15. That the only evidence you have of the dog stealing the kids’ crayons is from the Technicolored-poop packages left in the yard.
16. That whatever you discuss at home will inevitably find it’s way back to your child’s class. My daughter’s 1^st grade teacher and I have an agreement. She believes only 50% of what she brings to the classroom and I believe on 50% of what she brings home.
17. That by 10 years of age, your kids will accumulate enough stuffed animals to donate to all the children in China.
18. That there will be a phase in your preschooler’s life when they will be paralyzed from the waist down. They will be unable to walk anywhere. They will need you to “CARRY” them everywhere. It’s the “Carry-Me-Until-You-Get-A-Hernia” syndrome. Don’t worry it slowly goes away when there’s a toy store or pet shop nearby.
19. That no matter how cute I do my daughter’s long hair in the morning, by the time I pick her up from school, she looks like a Janis Joplin reject or Cousin It.
20. That no matter what kind of day I’ve had at work, my day always ends on a positive note when I see Sofia’s sticky face and Mia’s crazy hair. 

Boys have Penises, Girls have Vaginas

Since my oldest, Mia was old enough to understand, I’ve tried to teach her about good and bad health habits... especially, smoking. We talked about how bad was for your health and how it shortened your life, made you smell, etc.. Well, back when she was 4 years old,  Charlie quit smoking. I'm not sure what sparked him to give up that nasty habit.

Could it be the big deal Mia would make when she would catch Daddy smoking in the backyard?  (Charlie never smoked around the kids and never in the house. So she would actually have to catch him in the act outside on the patio..and believe me, she busted him numerous times.) Could it be the haunting phrase he would hear over and over again from his first born, “OOOhhhhhh, you’re going to get “concert”! (she meant Cancer) I am going to tell mommy on you!” Or maybe it was the way she fine tuned her little jig and skipped around him singing “You’re gonna get Cancer, you’re gonna get Cancer!” Or could it be the way she pointed her stubby little finger at him and yelled, “YOU’RE GONNE DIE!” with direct emphasis on “DIE”.  

Personally, I think it was when she started to taunt him with the word Emphysema.

When a 4 year-old cares enough to learn the word, Emphysema and what it means, it really stops you in your tracks. Telling him that he was going to have black lungs and “En-fa-seena” (as she pronounced it) might have been the final straw and helped him lay that last cancer stick to rest. After that, she resorted to taunting him about his “big belly”….it was enough to force him back into lighting up a big, fat one.

Mia has always been somewhat amazed and interested in the human body. I made sure that when she started to learn about “private parts” we would teach her the correct terminology. Penis and Vagina. These words are clinical yet interesting to a four year old who loves the way they sound. Her thirst for knowledge was astounding. Could it be we were raising a young Kurt Vonnegut or maybe a young Emily Bronte (Wuthering Heights)? We were such proud parents to have a “Baby Einstein” living beneath our roof! But my dreams of raising a child protégée had soon vanished.

What I did have on my hands was a phenomenal telephone/answering machine operator. Unbeknownst to us she had mastered the art of the record button on the answering machine. It wasn't until we had 5 messages asking us between snickers and snorts if we had listened to our outgoing message. I was scared. My palms started to sweat as I could feel the rush of blood drain from my face. I slowly leaned forward and pushed the bright, red blinking button next to the “5 messages waiting” sign. “Hi, this is Mia..” (Wheh! I sighed with relief, a cute little message) BUT…to my dismay, it wasn’t over…”we can’t get to the phone right now, leave a message. Oh yeah…boys have penises and girls have vaginas. Have a nice day!”

 “MIAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!” was the last word that left my mouth before the receiver hit the carpet. 

Penis, Vagina….Vagina, Penis. Oh, she loved using them, especially in public places. 

“Mommy, ladies have vaginas, right?” 

I just nodded my head as I loaded the rest of the groceries on the conveyer belt. 

“Mommy, did you hear me?"

 I said, “LADIES HAVE VAGINAS, RIGHT?”she questioned even louder. 

I couldn’t even hear the beep of the scanner as I tried to redirect her attention. I whispered in her ear, “Yes. Ladies do have vaginas, but let’s not talk about it right now. At home you can ask me more questions.” 

She studied my face and nodded, “Ok, mommy, I won’t talk about vaginas.” 

The cashier smiled, trying to hold back her laughter and the customers in line behind us were finding the humor in this as well (Thank God). 

I rushed to slide my debit card in the machine to cut short the impromptu show she was staging when low and behold Mia tugs at my sleeve and points to the cashier..

”She probably has a big vagina.” 

I could feel the tears well up behind my eyeballs. I grabbed my receipt, my bags and my shopping cart and I never looked back Goodbye Baby Einstein….. Hello, Dr. Ruth Westhiemer.

Pregnancy..The Journey.

Pregnancy. The period from conception to birth when a woman carries a developing fetus in her uterus. The definition is pretty cut and dry. But what they fail to describe are all the “wonderful” things that happen to the woman who decides to endure this 9 month journey…

 

Having given birth to two children has given me a new respect for my body and for motherhood. Of course, I was elated to find out I was pregnant both times. But the first time around I wasn’t prepared for the “transformation” that my body and my mental health endured. First of all, I thought I had a pretty strong stomach. I used to watch medical surgery shows on the Discovery Channel with all the blood and stitches and it didn’t phase me. Morning sickness is another thing. The first time I experienced morning sickness I was in a Fry’s grocery store and came across the Bratwurst in the meat section. I started feeling woozy. The albino colored weenies made my stomach turn. And then…I witnessed a moth flutter on to a piece of wood nearby. All I started to think about was the Bratwurst mixed with the moth and I tossed my cookies. I know, I know… weird combination, but it was the perfect one for heaving. As soon as I passed that first trimester I thought it would be smooth sailing from that point on. Boy was I wrong.

 

My 2^nd trimester was the beginning of the real body transformation. My stomach started to fill out and my boobs did, too. I didn’t really mind the bulging tummy as much as I did my “National-Geographic-Third-World- Nation” boobies. All I needed was a bone through my nose and a spear and I would fit right in. The “twins” would just hang there in all their glory with nipples that spread out from one side to the other. Disgusting until… I put a bra on. Sheer delight! I had stripper boobs!  The lifesaving bra hoisted those suckers up and made me look like I just swung off a pole on stage. (I probably could’ve moonlighted as an “entertainer” but I think the whole pregnancy thing would’ve been an issue, you think?) Then comes the heartburn…. UGH. Imagine someone ripping open your ribcage and pouring hot, bubbling acid over your heart and lungs. That’s how it feels. The bubbling pain oozing up into your throat-morning, noon and night. (Eating spicy pork rinds dipped in vinegar didn’t help) But I am convinced that the baby just wanted to torture me. Next comes the flatulence. Yes, farting. You tend to have a lot of gas when you’re pregnant. Sometimes you’re even unaware that you’re passing the good ol’ air biscuit. I knew it was bad when both of our dogs would get up and leave the room.

 

 The last trimester is when you just want things to be over with. You starting cussing like a sailor and you whine about every ache and twinge. Your stomach looks like a road map with all the stretch marks. You feel like Sasquatch when you finally get to witness your feet. You no longer have ankles. Your ankles slowly melt into your calves until they become“Cankles”. You start to ache in the nether regions… It starts to feel like Jackie Chan just busted some Tae kwon Do moves on your crotch. The mental breakdown begins during this trimester. You cry about anything and everything. I would cry when the mailman wasn’t on time or if my hair didn’t stay in my ponytail the right way. I was addicted to The Learning Channel series, “A Baby Story” which followed the lives of women about to give birth. I constantly called Charlie crying every time a woman squeezed one out.  He was close to calling the looney bin when he came home late one night and saw me waddling around in the garage with my blow-dryer. I hated the garage so it was a shock to see me standing next to my SUV with blow-dryer in hand. I told him that while I was lying in bed I realized how much I hated the pin striping on my car and wanted it off….IMMEDIATELY. He didn’t argue. He let me be. I think that was the safest thing for him to do.

 

As I look back now, my labor and delivery was pretty easy with both births (4 hours each). The only thing I was worried about the whole time I was in labor was how un-manicured my crotchmust look! There was a whole audience of nurses and doctors. I was about to give life to another human being and the only thing that ran through my mind was how much I probably looked like Chewbacca down there and how I should’ve given my bikini line one last wax. 

All that went out the window when I saw the jellied-face smile of my baby….

 

Giving birth was the most miraculous thing that I have ever done. It ranks as #1 on my list of “Fantastic Things I Have Done With My Life With No Regrets.” To have someone love you and depend on you unconditionally is indescribable. I always tell my friends that I never believed in love at first sight until I had my children. I mean, how could you love someone you never even met? My kids have proven that theory wrong. Twice in my life now I had the opportunity to assist God in the making of a miracle…how much better can it get?

 

 I am so truly blessed J

 

Divorce Sucks

Divorce sucks.

There are no two ways about it.

Five years ago, January, my parent’s divorce became final. They had already been separated for seven years before they officially called it quits. And you would think that it would've been an easy pill to swallow since it had been so long and drawn out. Unfortunately, it wasn't.  After 34 years of marriage, how can a couple fall out of love? How can they call it quits? All the memories, time and feelings invested thrown out the door?Being an adult and experiencing my parent's divorce was heart-wrenching. I can't even begin to imagine what divorce is like through a child’s eyes.  

 

I grew up in a very loving household. I was a military brat and my mother stayed home with me and my brother until we were both a few years into elementary school. She was the epitome of the “perfect mom”. She was a college-educated woman who baked cupcakes, drove us to ballet and baseball practice, sewed my Brownie patches on my uniform, read books to us, coached our bowling team, was  “room mother”, she cooked, cleaned, sold Avon and World Book Encyclopedias in her spare time. She never missed a field trip and was always there whenever we needed a hug or a Band-Aid. She was a modern day June Cleaver with a touch of Carol Brady. We had the “perfect” family…  and that is why I resented her as much as I did when she left my father. 

 

My father was also a very loving, funny man who loved my mother very much and would do anything in the world for her. Yet, they both had such different personalities. My mother was outgoing and spontaneous. My father, a homebody and a planner.  He loved to work on the house, keep the yard manicured, and the house spotless.  I think the anal retentiveness really wore on my mother and after 34 years she had enough.

 

My parents gave me and my brother everything. We never wanted for anything.  We always had the latest toys, clothes, shoes and we each received cars when we passed our driver’s test and new cars after graduation. But the one thing they no longer had the ability to do was to spoil me with their "togetherness".  Don’t get me wrong, I have come to better understand my mother and the choices she made and I have to say that a large part of that stems from being a mother and wife myself. I understand that you do everything in your power to keep your family happy and healthy. I understand that your needs become secondary to your children and your husband. I understand that a good mother will pass up the pair of shoes she fell in love with at Nordstrom’s if it means providing more for her children. I understand the sacrifices and I understand the unconditional love. Unfortunately, my mother was giving and giving- trying to maintain the image of the “perfect mom”- unconsciously neglecting her own needs and it was slowly chipping away at her spirit until there wasn’t any of “her” left.

 

To this day, it’s still hard for me to look at pictures of me when I was younger during happier times with my parents. I look at my little six year old face in those portraits and see this happy child, not knowing that in 24 years her parents will no longer be taking pictures together….that there will no longer be family get-togethers or Halloween pumpkin carving contests in the kitchen. It’s taken some real soul searching and prayer to come to grips with my parent’s divorce. I’ve come to accept that the world does not stop for my grief, no matter how heart broken I am. Even as I type this, I still get choked up because there is that little place in my heart that hopes they’ll find their way back to each other one day.

 

I think this is what keeps me so committed in making my marriage work. I would never, ever wish this type of emotional anguish on anyone. Although my parents are friends and my relationship with both of them is tighter than it will ever be…divorce is a heart-wrenching, roller coaster ride. Marriage in itself is an astounding journey. Like most marriages, mine isn’t perfect. We both have our faults, but we balance each other out. I think the key to the success of our marriage is that we “agree to disagree”.  If anything, I’ve learned how much the human soul and spirit can endure. I’ve learned that we need to nurture our inner selves if we are going to be happy, productive parents, sisters, brothers, wives, husbands. It’s the proverbial oxygen mask that drops from the airplane ceiling. You need to breathe and make sure you’re ok before you can make sure that everyone else is. My children and my husband are my life, my heart and my soul.

Even if I had nothing more to give, I’d find the strength within myself to answer their cries for help.  

 

In all my triumphs- in every good and great thing that has happened to me- they have always been there for me &  I know that I will always be there for them… 

Butterflies, Bees and Butts...

* Written when my oldest was about to start Kindergarten

“So Mia, what did you learn in preschool today?”

She looks at me after much contemplation, “Nothing.”

What-did-you-learn-in-school-today was considered rhetorical and meant completely nothing before I learned to ask direct questions of my little one.

“Ok, Mia, what’s the letter of the week?”

She looks at me with an air of annoyance. “The letter of the week is B.”

She goes back to playing Dora the Explorer, The Hunt for Pirate Pig’s Treasure on her Gameboy Advance. This child, who can complete every level of this electronic game with her eyes closed while simultaneously eating Chicken McNuggets with the other hand with such precision and ease cannot supply me with a simple overview of this week’s preschool curriculum.

So, I continue…

“Well, what things begin with the letter B?”

She hastily pushes the pause button on her game system and rolls her eyes..

“Butterfly, Boy, Brown, Bee..”

I smile and nod with approval.

And suddenly she becomes interested and continues…

“And you know mom, if you turn the letter B upside down, it looks like a butt.”

I close my eyes. I will never look at the letter B the same way again. But I do give my child credit for being imaginative and thinking outside the box.

“Yes, Mia, it does,” I respond. The wheels in my head start turning. Maybe my first born has an eye for abstract art! Hold on a minute...could she be the next female Pablo Picasso? Maybe we do have this genius child with an eye for grasping symbolism and translating complex pieces of art! She can see so much more than the average eye!

“And mommy,.” she continues, “boobies also start with the letter B.” My bubble bursts and my dream of her studying abroad and attending her first European gallery opening fizzle away. I stop wondering where I placed my passport.

“Yes, boobies do start with the letter B but we don’t want to use that word in school.”

“Can I say breasts?”

“No!”

“Ok.”

** silence**

"...and you know...if you turn the letter B upside down and put circles on it, it looks like boobies.."

She goes back to her Gameboy to hunt for Pirate Pig’s Treasure.

I sit motionless.

It’s interesting to me, how apparently bored she is with my interrogation. She is so done with preschool. Kindergarten starts next week for her and her Disney Princess backpack with matching lunchbox is ready to go! (She practices wearing it around the house). She is counting down the days excitedly. As for me, well…that’s another story…

I’m just a potpourri of “mommy emotions”. I’m glad, I’m sad, I’m happy, I’m worried. I want to hold her hand all through her first day of school. I want to be there at lunch time and cut her sandwich into ¼’s the way she likes it, open her pudding pack so she doesn’t splatter it all over her uniform and wipe away her milk moustache after every sip. I want to be there when she swings on the monkey bars during recess. I want to be there to make sure she’s not the last one picked when they’re choosing teams. 

I want to protect her.

I want to hold her and never let her grow up. 

It hurts…a lot.

Reality tells me to get a grip. I tell myself to knock it off. She is not going away to prison. It’s Kindergarten, for pete’s sake! She is going to be in a loving atmosphere receiving a great education with other little girls and boys. She’ll be fine. She won’t even be thinking about you…

And it hurts. 

It’s heart wrenching to see my child start this new chapter in her life. Maybe it’s because it’s a sign that I’m getting older. Or maybe it’s because I’m an ounce less “needed” than a year ago. Before I had kids, I always told myself that I wouldn’t be “one of them”. Those SUV driving, latte drinking mothers that won’t let go…and that is exactly what I’ve become.

I’ve got the tissue and smelling salts ready for Monday. The 1^st day of Kindergarten is going to be rough- but I’ll get through it with a little help from friends, family, and anything made with caffeine and covered in chocolate. Oh yeah… and I’m sure Mia will be ok, too J