#40: Letting Go

Months ago, I found a quote that had a powerful impact on how I view motherhood. While I didn't save it, the quote read something along the lines of, 

"Motherhood is simply letting go and saying goodbye a million different times to the different phases and versions of your child." 

My eyebrows raised and with a deep inhale and long exhale I considered these words. At the time, Genevieve was still a non-mobile babe. But in that moment, I realized how many versions of G had already departed. Goodbye to the little newborn overhead stretches, goodbye to the milk drunk tree frog that passed out on my chest, and to that little tongue that was seemingly always outside of her mouth.

And now, months later I realize we are beyond her phase of rolling across the room to get everywhere (including to settle in the crook of my body). Less romantically, we are beyond the phase of her laying still for diaper changes, and she now rolls and grabs at anything she can. This last example is not my favorite (especially when she grabs and turns the wipe warmer on its head). Though I am reminded that soon enough this phase will come to an end as well because along this journey, all things do pass. A habit or phase you are experiencing right now: whether you love it or are feeling frustrated: will pass. 

This realization hit me like a strong gust of wind (a resonant example with how ungodly windy our weather has been these past few weeks). When I look at my now ten-month-old G, I see that her hair is growing longer and starting to wave, her newborn grunts have morphed and become intentional sounds, and she crawls with speed and gusto.  

Yesterday Genevieve crawled out of her room and into the hallway towards the guest bedroom across the hall. Previously, anytime she entered this threshold where the carpet transitioned into the hard floor, she'd pause, hold herself in her lean-to-sit position and look back at me for a reaction before continuing on. On this day, she simply kept her momentum and eyes on her path ahead. In that instant, I felt a mingling of emotions. But as I looked at that poufy diaper butt, the voice in my head lovingly reminded me to "keep letting her go."

And with a smile, I watched her go.

When I say "letting her go" I am not talking about removing attachment or creating distance. In fact, I have still yet to have a babysitter for G and don't plan on having one any time soon. But what I do mean is I need to continually expect change and respect the present version of Genevieve, who is continuing to form in front of my eyes. Now that she is crawling everywhere this means allowing her to have space to explore, possibly get hurt, and to lick the floor (something she loves that makes me cringe). But beyond physically giving her more space, I need to mentally and emotionally let go too. This little person, whom I love so much, doesn't need me less: she needs me differently. 

Rather than mourn the loss of the stages we are beyond, I instead I revere the phases that have been a part of our experience. I try to take picture or video snap shots to remember moments or phases, I journal about them to commit them to memory, and I see the more complex 'version' of what she looks like or does and remember the more rudimentary version we are beyond. Don't get me wrong, there are of course pangs of sadness. However, there is an appropriate place for us to feel sadness--it isn't always a bad thing. When I notice I am feeling that sadness I breathe through it and acknowledge the sensation. As I fill my lungs with air, I too fill my heart with joy from those many moments I will forever cherish with the 'Genevieve of the past,' and how absolutely perfect she is in this moment that I am with right now. Because as I know, this version too will pass. 

When I watched Genevieve crawl away from me in that hallway it reminded me that she will continue to move away from me in myriad ways. I don't mean that she will not be in a close relationship to me, but rather than her world will only continue to expand. Think of the analogy for how a parent's heart grows when you have a baby. The love of your baby doesn't take up a huge (limited) space in your heart, but rather enables your heart and capacity of love to expand exponentially. My role as her mother will continue to expand and change as well, and my intention is to accept and adapt to what each phase calls for as her world grows.

​While I know so much winging it goes into the transition to a new phase (whether that is a non-mobile baby to a mobile one or even a child transitioning to a tween and then teen), intentionality is important too. I seek to find the awe and wonderful attributes of each phase and focus my attention on them. When Genevieve was a newborn, I tried to flow with our 2-3 hour feeding schedule and not focus on my lack of sleep. When G blew out her diaper after her 2 am feed EVERY night for two months, I patiently sat and waited for her to go before attempting to go back to sleep (and calmly changed her diaper, pjs, sleep sack, and sheets--no hyperbole, EVERY night). When Genevieve enters the teen years, I know that peers become more important than the family unit and to brace myself for verbal spars and eye rolling. In that phase too I will support her as she needs and not as I *wish* she needed me. 

An important outlook for me as a parent is not to see Genevieve as "my baby forever." Instead, I wish to hold her as a person who I will love forever. Genevieve is ever becoming, and I want her to know I value who she is--not my favorite version of who she was. I will hold all those joyful memories in my heart. Though I will too, remember my heart (thanks to her) is ever expanding. 

We may need to say goodbye a million different times, but isn't it incredible we get to say hello a million different times too?