Friday, October 3, 2014

Letting Go

Every little milestone in your child's life is bittersweet.  On the one hand, you don't have to nurse anymore; on the other, you will never nurse this child again.  That period of their life is over, never to return.

You will never be able to carry them in that Baby Bjorn again.

You will never push them in the baby swing again.

They will never say quesadilla as "case-of-dias" again.

You will never carry them again.

Sure, they can get their own drink, walk on their own, swing independently and order their own food at a restaurant without any weird looks, and that's all well and good, but with every step forward, there is the reminder that you cannot go back.

My daughter has a very special baby she received not long before her brother was born.  She named him Jelly (she's always had a knack for naming her guys:  she has a red plaid pig named Rusty, a big pink pig named Squash, a dog named Shovel and a polar bear named Chai, for example).  She immediately decided that Jelly was a boy, despite the fact that he arrived in a very pink outfit.

I vividly remember her 2 year old self mimicking me and her new baby brother; hoisting Jelly up on her hip with a sigh and asking, "How am I going to hold the baby and do the 'puter?"

Jelly has traveled the country with us - even on a flight in which my daughter insisted on wearing him in a sling because he couldn't breathe in her backpack.  Duh, mom!

Although he has a crib of his own, Jelly has always slept in my daughter's bed with her - after all, I co-slept with both of my babies, too.

Then, just a few weeks ago, I went into my daughter's room to kiss her goodnight, and Jelly was tucked gently into his crib for the night for the very first time.

"Jelly's going to try sleeping in his own bed tonight," she explained.

I knew that day would come, of course, and I gave her a reassuring smile while my heart broke a little bit inside.  "I think Jelly will like sleeping in his own bed, and you'll have much more room in your bed for you," I told her confidently.

As I turned out her lights, though, I remembered back to when my babies left the nest of our bed.  How good it felt to have my bed to myself and my husband again... and yet, there was that sadness of knowing that part was over, and we would never go back.  Sure, they might crawl in with us after a nightmare every once in awhile, just as my daughter might bring Jelly back a time or two - to comfort her - but it's not the same.  This period of her life is over.

Then I realized, she's still mimicking me.  She likely felt the same way I did on the first night when I let my babies sleep in their own beds.  She is going through with Jelly what I went through - and am going through still - with her and her brother.  Letting go.

I still feel sad, but comforted, too.  I have no doubt that my daughter will one day have a child of her own, and she will be a wonderful mother; a mother who knows when it's time to let go, and how to do it.