The war in me

Constantly raging, always conflicting. I am battling the war between the mom who wants to take Elliot and save as: baby. Then at the same time, I am so eager for him to grow up. I see 3 and 4 year old boys walking with their moms at the grocery store, helping them put cans of peas in the cart and having the best time pleasing their parent and I know those days will come and oh, how great it will be when we can talk about his day and learn together and catch fireflies in June and spin in circles until we feel dizzy and watch clouds passing, making them out to be animals.

The Boy turns 6 months old in 4 days. I have been making notes for his 6 month letter. He has made gigantic leaps and bounds from the small, squalling pain in the ass that he was at 2 weeks, at 6 weeks. He is so interactive now, sometimes shy but mostly giggly. He is starting to outgrow things like swaddling and lots of rocking. He sleeps in his crib on his belly now. He grabs at everything on my desk. He loves to be tickled and nuzzled and flown around the house. One day in the future, we will reach a divide where I can’t bury my nose in the crook of his neck and make him squeal with laughter. Maybe I’ll get a hug here and there but some day, he’ll want someone else to hug him; another female whose attention will mean more than the woman who gave him life, who got up multiple times a night for months, years, to give sustenance, comfort, a back rub after a nightmare.

And I am sure this will break my heart. Each time he reaches a new milestone that puts him farther and farther away from me and on the path to his own, independent life, my heart will shatter just a little bit more. We as parents spend most of our child’s early life teaching them everything they need to know to survive in this world on their own and yet, mothers struggle with the fact that their child, although doing the right thing, becomes a separate entity. It is both amazing and scary; fills me with a sense of satisfaction and a feeling of loss – emptiness. My parents are recently empty-nesters and I know my mother is compensating for my sister’s move to NY by constantly doting on Elliot, making plans to come see him, knitting him little socks. I hope that when my time comes and all birds have flown out to make their own nest, I can find enjoyment in my own time once again. Maybe I will take up quilting. For now, I will sew together the quilt of the relationship between my son, my husband and me, our life, our family. The experiences we have, the patches. The bonds we forge, the thread that holds them all together.


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