Attached

My oldest child will be finishing his Junior year of high school next week. That means we are heading into senior year. Senior pictures and college visits have already been scheduled. Senior year is a big deal when you are 17/18. It's also, it turns out, a big deal when you are the mom.

I pretty much follow the theory of attachment parenting. When my babies were little I often wore them attached to my body, I breast fed them for longer than many people thought I should. I didn't let them cry in their cribs, and I came running to see the dandelion they picked, even if I was in the middle of something. We were seldom apart. I frequently self evaluated their level of "attachment". Did they feel closely bonded to me? Did they feel like the world around them was safe?

It's trickier now that they are older. I still want them to feel safe and connected, but the string that attaches us gets longer by the day. The needs that they expect me to meet change. Our time apart increases constantly. The string stretches with both time and space apart.

I wish I could take their pain away and solve their problems, but it doesn't work that way. They are better served by me sitting beside them and helping them feel that pain, and then getting up and solving that problem on their own.

I wish I could stay the most important person in their life forever, but it doesn't work that way. They are learning to be independent, and make their own choices. They can't live their whole life to make me happy.

Keeping them little is not in anyone's best interest. I never realized how much of parenting is about letting go. 

Letting go of the tiny finger to watch them walk across the kitchen floor.

Letting go of the kite string so that they can feel the rush of holding it alone.

Letting go of their hand when they try something new, and you become an observer of parts of their lives.

Letting go of the pain in your own past so that it doesn't touch their future.

Letting the string that attaches you get longer and longer as they become real people that you like.
I am amazed by the people my children are becoming, and I love them, right where they stand. 

But- I miss those little bodies. The sweet starfish hands on my neck. Sitting up with a baby in the middle of the night is actually one of my most sacred memories. The house is quiet, my mind was quiet and I could just soak in the beauty of the moment. Taking the time to soak it in and enjoy it has been like putting it in a big Mason jar. I can open it on lonely days and feel that heavy warm head on my chest and hear the even baby breathing.

That is my goal for Alex's senior year. Really look at him before the last of the youth in his face is forever replaced by manhood. Listen to him and  remember what he has to say.
Soak up the moments, put them in the jar before they slip away and the connecting thread gets even longer.  Enjoy watching him grow into such a remarkable person, that I feel lucky to be his friend, let alone his mom.

Attachment is complicated. It draws people together, but it also gives them the strength they need to stand alone. Standing alone, in their own truth, in their own feelings, and knowing that they are loved and worthy and strong is all I can ask my children to become.

But, if they ever need me, they just have to pull the string. And I will come running to see the dandelion.