A fork in the road

This week our family had to make a decision about our son's life. It was one of those decisions where the answer is pretty obvious, and yet it feels excruciating to make. So, of course, the final ruling came complete with the full panel of angst-ridden emotions - fear, sadness, loss, guilt, worry. But after the whole process was over, I sat down and tried to weed out the emotions one by one. I acknowledged the legitimacy of each, but reasoned with myself as to why I could let each one go. And once I weeded out every emotion that was tied to that one decision - I was still left with a bad feeling in the pit of my stomach. Worry - I just couldn't seem to get rid of that one. So I talked through all the different reasons I shouldn't be worried, and yet it would not leave. At night, when lying in bed, trying to sleep, I could feel the worry resting in my chest.

So, I took a step back. I looked at the bigger picture. And that was when I realized that the decision we made was not the issue. The actual conclusion had resolved itself in my mind. No, the real problem, the thing keeping me awake at night was the fact that we hadn't made this type of decision with my daughter at all. Here it was. The moment in time when we began parenting two seperate children. The first of the many life choices that would create two lives, two personalities, two life histories.

Until this point, we had raised both children essentially the same. They had the same books, same toys, same trips, same games, even the same pink cloth diapers (sorry Gavin). I know they weren't the same children and that they didn't respond the same way to everything. But we had pretty much lived life with the "What's good for the goose is good for the gander" parenting philosophy. Some of it was just our inner cheapskate. But, even better, for us emotionally there was very little guilt in this plan. There was no worry that in 25 years we were going to hear about how Chloe got a bike and Gavin didn't. Check your own history - how long does it take you to come up your unfair mom and dad moment? We all have them. We also didn't have to worry about screwing up Gavin. He was the second child, and every time we needed to make a decision we could say, " Hey - look how Chloe turned out! She's mostly normal."

I knew that this wasn't a very realistic method for child rearing in the long term. I mean, we'll start with the fact that one is a girl and one is a boy. You can raise them as gender neutral as you desire - but some decisions are going to have to differ (No Chloe - you may not stand up to pee). However, I was willing to hold on to this consistency, this safe routine, as long as possible. And suddenly - without warning - we are there. Because this isn't a "popcorn at 1 year or 2" type decision. This is a major change in their life experiences. From this point on, their paths have diverged. And - to continue to paraphrase (ie: steal from) Frost - we are on the road less traveled. We have never done this before. And that is scary. I don't know what comes next because we've never been down this road before. Rationally, making two different decision for two different children seems obvious. But from now on I will have to fight the voices in my head. The ones saying, "Was one way better?" And I will have to fight those voices for the rest of my life. Because starting today, I have two individual stories for the two individuals I have helped create. And while I can't wait to celebrate the amazing differences in my two amazing children - I will continue to worry. Worry and love.


The Road Not Taken  (1916)
by Robert Frost
Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth;

Then took the other, as just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim,
Because it was grassy and wanted wear;
Though as for that the passing there
Had worn them really about the same,

And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
I doubted if I should ever come back.

I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—
I took the one less travelled by,
And that has made all the difference.

Beyond Babies

Sometime in the year 2011, my title changed. I was no longer the mom of an infant, baby, or toddler. We graduated from diapers, pacifiers, sippy cups, and (sadly) naps. We packed up the "does not contain small parts" toys and shipped them to the attic. We also began to give things away. At first it was just a few baby clothes. Then we bit the bullet and said goodbye to infant seats, high chairs, play mats, and swings. While I can't cite one moment or great pronouncement, sometime in the year 2011 the decision was made. There would be no more babies. Sometime in the year 2011, I became the mother of children.


It doesn't seem to be a great distinction. Unless, that is, you are actually a parent. And then the distinction is enormous. These two human beings that were created from my own body, that spent years of their lives completely dependent on me, are becoming their own people. People separate from me. And, as with all big life changes, this is bittersweet.


The bitter being, of course, the letting go. Letting go of the special, precious time of those first three plus years. There really are no words to describe that time. Either you are a parent and you know... or you don't. On some days, the bitter taste of letting go can stand in the way of the sweet. On melancholy evenings, you can get caught up in the idea of never again. Those are scary words. Never again. I will never again feel a baby move inside of me. I will never again look into my child's eyes in the first moment of life. I will never again fall asleep with my child sleeping in my chest. I will never again watch them say first words, take first steps, or tell me they love  me for the first time. Those words, never again, weigh us down. Weigh us down physically with still cameras, video cameras, scrap books, and cell phones. Weigh us down emotionally with fears, sadness, worry, and regret. The bitter can be very bitter.


What gets forgotten sometimes is the sweet. I believe the reason for that omission is because of a dirty little secret we don't want to admit to ourselves. It isn't just letting go of our dear sweet babies that is so hard. We also hate letting go of control. Letting go, coming to terms with never again, means that we are no longer in control. These little people are making their own decisions. We don't get to just sit and hold them anymore because they won't let us. Tantrums and terrible two-ness aside, we start with unconditional adoration from our babies. We walk on water, we ARE their world. And that feels good. When these babies begin to turn into people, we start to turn over control. No, actually it is wrenched out of our hands by these strong little people. That feels terrifying. By taking pictures and video, by documenting every moment, we try desperately to regain some of that control. Which is fine, as long as we don't let that make us miss the sweet.


So what is the sweet? Precisely that which is so bitter. The letting go of control. Watching these little people we created grow into independent human beings is scary. Trusting them to make their own decisions is terrifying. Standing back and letting them fail... well, again there are no words. But these moments are also breathtaking, awe-inspiring, spectacular, and wondrous. If you can come to terms with the letting go, the never again... then your vision is clear enough to see the moving forward and the never before. That is the sweet. 


So, that is inspiration for my New Year's resolution this year. Not to lose 10 pounds (though I'll take it) or to exercise more. My resolution is to focus on both the bitter and sweet and appreciate them for what they are. My resolution is to slow down and think about what is happening and enjoy it instead of trying to control it. My resolution is to both let go and look ahead. My resolution is learn to live as a mother to children, not babies. To realize that means I have more of myself back, and to decide what I want that "myself" to be. There is no goal, no plan. Just life. Happy New Year.