Parenting 101 - letting them go

Naveen will be 14 months in less than two weeks. We still have our most special times when he’s nursing. Unlike with Deaglan who still clings to me every chance he gets, I sense this kid will tell me when it’s time to stop.

I have to be honest. I'm not ready.

He’s made tiny steps toward big-boyhood already. Last week two mornings in a row, when I set him down on the floor at the daycare, he looked up at Ms. Debbie, waddled over and grabbed her pant legs to let her know he was ready to be picked up.

Just like that. No thought to me, his own Mama, standing there, crumbling inside.


She peered at me apologetic while I staged bravado. I smiled through tears, and chirped about how grateful I was that he had somebody special he was connected to. The mother of two grown boys, a pioneer in letting go, she pushed him toward me, asked him to give me kisses.

And you know what he did?

He turned his little face away. As if my shift was over.
Punched out.
Not relevant. 

I laughed it off, hugged Deaglan and marched out of there. In the van I slumped into the seat. Felt carved out. Emptier than I’d been in some time. I chatted myself out of sobbing, reasoning that this is what I wanted all along, for him to be okay at the daycare. Worry-free days at work. 

But I knew better than to believe it. I quietly sat at my desk those mornings. I thought about the forever it seemed to take me to get my degree in university, find a decent job, build a life. The millennium each work week felt to reach the weekend.

And yet when it came to these boys, time was elusive and cunning, slipping through my fingers.

Shrewd. Merciless.

I'm pouring my heart out with Shell.