Still Cheering You On

It's this morning. You and I are in the van, just the two of us. I'm taking you out for breakfast for your birthday. I already promised you that you can have the pancakes with the M&M's.

We pull into the parking lot and I glance down just in time to see the clock turn to 7:33 AM. The exact time you were born, four years ago. The first glimpse of your precious newborn face flashes through my mind, and then I glance into the rearview mirror to observe you quietly for a moment. You are excited, talking about how many pancakes you are going to order, your face lit up in delight, one pigtail slightly higher than the other, a smudge of toothpaste still on the corner of your mouth. You are beautiful.

We sit down at the table and order our juice, and then you announce that you have to use the potty. We head towards the single-stall restroom, but when we reach the door you spin around, put out your hand, and say, "No Mommy, you stay here. I can do it myself." I shouldn't be surprised. You were always the independent one, you always knew what you wanted and that was that. You chose when to wean, you chose when to potty train, and now, you are choosing to grow up and become even more independent, whether I am ready for it or not.

As much as I hate to admit it, I am not ready.

How did this happen? Did I really, truly think that you would stay little forever? That I would have all the time in the world to make up for our rocky newborn days, when I suffered from postpartum depression and did little but the basics to meet your needs? I yearn so much to be able to turn back the clock and go back to those newborn days, to change my actions, to do more than change your diapers and nurse you, to actually hold you and cuddle with you and take in your sweet, newborn scent. Now, when I ask to snuggle with you, you manage to sit still next to me for about five minutes before you bounce off to continue to play.

You exit the restroom and we return to the table and order our food. We talk and color, you write out your name and we count to 20. When the waitress brings our food, you announce to her that you are now four years old, your face proud and overjoyed.

I take a deep breathe, and let out all my feelings of regret. You are independent. You have outgrown so many needs that you received from me. You no longer need nursies, you no longer need me to help you go potty, and most of the time, you no longer need me to cuddle with you. But, that does not make me insignificant in your life. You still need me to teach you, to hold your hand in parking lots, and to help you pick out your outfits. You and I still have a special bond that I will always cherish; the bond of a mother and daughter. I will always be here for you, no matter how independent you become, no matter how many times you tell me, "No Mommy, I can do it myself."

When we exit the restaurant and head for the van, you automatically slip your hand into mine and I smile. I give it three quick squeezes: our silent code for "I love you." You turn your still-little face up to mine and say, "I love you too, Mommy" and my heart melts.

Tonight you have your very first soccer practice. The days of playdates are slowly transitioning into organized sports and homeschooling activities, and now I am okay with it. Now, instead of sitting in my lap nursing while I chat with other moms at a playgroup, you will be on the field, by yourself, learning and laughing without me by your side. But, if you stop for a second and listen closely, you will hear me cheering you on from the sidelines. Always.

Happy Birthday, my precious Mermaid. I love you so much.

Still Cheering You On