Sue me

I just got done laying down with Cash for a few minutes. He has frequent nightmares and a little snuggling/playing with my hair always lulls him back to sleep.  It doesn't seem like so long ago that I was a little girl, laying in my big girl bed, having nightmares just like his. I can remember being terrified to take naps because I was afraid the "bad dream man" would come. I'm sure my sister can remember hearing stories about the bad dream man when we shared bunk beds. I made her be quiet as I gave him a stern talking to in my mind, trying to persuade him not to send bad dreams. Sad when you think about it. Especially when I see Cash going through the same thing. I hate that he has bad dreams, but I LOVE being the nurturing comfort he calls for to lay with him a while.

Almost everytime I lay with or hold one of my boys as they sleep for any length of time, I begin to get teary. Whether I'm thinking of how much they've grown, or how much growing they have yet to do. I have been thinking more and more about Cash going to school in a few years, and am always very depressed at the thought. I become very anxious and sick to my stomach thinking about the separation.  I can remember the first day of school as a kid, and how exciting the experience was to go to a new classroom, meet your teacher and classmates, find your desk and finally use the new school supplies that I was always so anxious to put to work. To this day a blank piece of college ruled paper entralls me. I can remember coming home from that first day thinking, "That was fun," and then the inevitable drop in your stomach when you realize..."I have to go back tomorrow...and the next day...and the next."  Even as a child, I HATED not having my freedom. I think that's why I hate the thought of Cash going to school. What if he doesn't like it? What if he is scared? What if he gets there, likes it for a few minutes and wants to come home? What if he misses me? What if he's crying and no one will let him call me to come get him? I realize most of these worries are premature, as he just turned 3 and has a few more years before I really have to worry about these things. The problem is, time isn't slowing down. In fact, it feels like its speeding up.  I look at the pictures covering Cash's bulletin board of when he was a little baby. When he just started crawling, and at his 1st birthday party when I was 5 weeks pregnant with Beckett.  I look at Beckett and see him run across the front yard. I see him being more independent, and wanting to do things that Cash does. I see Cash pick up his plate after dinner, walk it to the trash can, clear it, and put it in the sink. I hear him ask me for a "big boy cup with no lid, please" instead of his sippy cup. I see Beckett wanting to run out the front door and race Cash to the tree in the front yard that they always insist on touching before we go to run errands.  Time is flying, and I know it will only get faster. 

It is not lost on me that these days are fleeting. I don't take any of it for granted.  I was sitting here, in my bed last night thinking, "This is what I've waited for." Every hope and dream and ambition for the future that I had growing up has culminated into this moment right now. Wife. Mother. That's what I have always wanted. I know that's not popular to say this day in age, but its true. I also know that these days won't be around forever, and that one day my role as "mother" will be vastly different from what it is today. There will be a lot less daily need from me, and I'll take on the role of safety net, and advisor.  And that's ok. But with every baby step into their independence, I have a strange blend of happiness and pride for their achievement, and sadness for just another thing that they don't need me for. 

Its funny to me now when I watch a movie, with some underlying plot of a teenager needing to spread his or her wings. You almost always hear someone say, "Mom, you need to learn to let go a little bit."  Now as a parent, I think to myself, "Pshh, what an IDIOT!" I'm sure I will hear that same line spoken to me by one of my children someday, and I'm sure I'll be thinking that same response in my head. Don't they remember the days when I changed their diapers, and cleaned up after them, and took them fun places, and worried about what they ate and how I consciously tried to make every moment they needed to be held and nurtured the most calming and "unscary" place they could ever imagine, and how I put a lot of thought into how I can shape them into decent, Christian young men.  I don't think its possible to realize, until you have children, how much of their soul that your parents pour into you.  I feel like everything I have, mind, body and soul is wrapped around my three (Colt, included) boys.  Thankfully, Colt I can hold on to until one of us dies, but one day I'm going to have to let go of the other two. And tonight, that thought makes me a little teary eyed, and queasy. Sue me.