Yesterday, I held my daughter on my hip for the last time before she entered the great big world of elementary school. My arms knew exactly where to be placed on her tiny tush, and the feel of her hand resting on my chest was as familiar and comforting as it had been since the moment she was born.
"Hold me Mommy." She whispered, lifting her arms upward as we crossed the blacktop towards the kindergarten yard. I remember my husband snapping this photo of us because it's when I realized that I was clinging to her just as tightly as she clung to me.
We were both ready for this big step, but our bodies weren't quite ready to let each other go yet.
She was born nearly five years ago, weighing a little over 5 pounds. Forced to arrive early due to pregnancy complications, she wailed furiously when the oxygen filled her lungs for the first time. Her tiny fists clenched and clawed on my chest, with her entire face furrowed as though she was seriously annoyed her life inside my cozy womb was being disrupted.
Her fierceness only got stronger as she grew and her screams are a daily sound in our home. Though she is our fourth and final baby, I can honestly admit that Ty and I have learned more about parenting and ourselves from this child than any other we've interacted with. And that includes our own children and the hundreds we've worked with professionally!
The twangy words of Garth Brooks have been a constant echo in my ear:
"She's sun and rain, she's fire and ice, a little crazy but it's nice. And when she gets mad, you best leave her alone...."
I can see it all so clearly in this photo though; how much I needed her in my life.
My eyes look tired, my skin less tight. Then, I look at my hands holding her up and the way her body relaxes into mine and I see only strength and trust.
I am a much better version of myself than I was before she was in it. I have an air of confidence and certainty that can only be learned by going through the shittiest of circumstances and having to come face-to-face with the ugliest parts of myself in the process.
Then, being given no other choice but going through the muddy trenches of life, I emerged more enlightened.
I guess I don't mean that I am a better version of myself than I was five years ago, because the word I'm really looking for is different.
I'm a different person because of my Molly girl, but I like this version of me better.
When she was only six months old, the world shutdown and we all sheltered in our homes, emerging many months later to a society that was forever changed. Eyes fixed to the news watching in horror as COVID raged through communities, I'd retreat to the nursery next to my bedroom, which became my peaceful haven for the next year. I'd rock my Molly girl, finding comfort in the feel of her soft skin against my chest, pretending for a little while that all was well, everything was ok.
With my baby in my arms and my other three children safe at home, my sliver of the world truly was ok and I knew I was blessed.
I was still naive back then, thinking that having four young children to keep safe and educated during a global pandemic was the hardest possible thing that could happen to me. Now I look back on those months with nostalgia, remembering the squeals of laughter from playing hours and hours of silly games as a family and having nothing but time to just be with my kids.
We couldn't go anywhere, and there were many days I thought I'd lose my freaking mind, but I'd give anything to have one more of those painstakingly long days with my 9 year old son, 7. year old daughter, 2 year old son, and my bouncing baby girl.
When Molly was one year old, the ground beneath my feet was pulled away with one swift move when the news of a cancer diagnosis came for my husband. I won't go into details here, but I will say that it was by the grace of God I had my four children to stay strong for, otherwise I would have been swept away completely by all the fear and despair cancer brings along with it.
I'm not sure if Molly sensed all the anxiety that filled our home those excruciating years of COVID and Cancer, but her desire to be held and nursed filled every second of my days.
She became sort of like an outfit I'd put on each morning.
I'd select which baby carrier I wanted to wear that morning, pop her squishy body inside of it, and I'd go about my day as though she were just another accessory I was wearing. Our bodies became so in sync as I busily ran around raising children, being a caretaker to a chemo-stricken husband, and trying my best to keep our lives afloat. I did a lot of baby-wearing and breastfeeding with my other three children, but not to the extent as I did with Molly.
As the days went by, she became heavier to wear on my body and wore out my nerves even worse. There are several appropriate ways to explain her personality. Professionals may say she is a highly spirited child, who has extreme emotions and sensitivities. All I know, is that she is not like the others. She has a neurodivergent mind that does not conform easily to society's demands of her, so it is up to us, her parents and teachers, to help create an environment that suits her very specific needs.
As I navigated mothering this little girl, realizing that the typical parenting strategies I had relied heavily upon with my other children would be slapped right back in my face when I tried them on Molly, I had to dig deeper than I ever had in my life.
This is not easy work. It's hard for any parent of a child who is "extra" and it's also been hard for Ty and me, regardless of our accolades in child development and education.
The first step was the slowest, when I had to admit defeat and begin looking at Molly's behavior from a different perspective. This took tremendous courage and energy, as I also had to analyze myself in the process. Behind all those extreme outbursts of emotion was my beloved daughter, who had unmet needs I did not yet know how to meet, and that was a hard pill to swallow.
Underneath my impatient and often detached responses to her tantrums and endless intensity lay my own inadequacies and insecurities that were beginning to crack under all this pressure.
If you're interested in what those cracks revealed, it's all in the book Ty and I have been writing. We started it well over a year ago, but I'm excited to share it with you all when it's finished!
I'm going against the grain here, not wrapping this up in a neat and tidy bow about how sad I am to see her enter this next chapter of her life that won't include me nearly as much as her first five years.
The truth is, I'm simply relieved we survived the years of bubbly baby, toddlerhood and preschool with our family still in tact!
I felt as though I was limping across the finish line when we finally opened the gate to the kindergarten yard. When Molly's sweet teacher took her hand, I breathed in the sweet smell of relief and freedom.
I can't do this alone, and I don't want to either. Ty and I do our best to parent our spirited girl but we can't do this alone, which is why it felt like Mrs. Faanes flew in with a Superwoman cape as she led our wild youngsters into the safe confines of her classroom. It felt the same way when we dropped her off at preschool, making it crystal clear how crucial a high-quality education system is for families everywhere.
I'm fairly confident that not a day will go by in my life when I don't wish I could rock my baby to sleep, smell that sweet peach of a newborn head, hold the hand of a toddler version of my child as they waddle around the backyard, or crawl around the living room pretending we are kitties.
However often I may long for those days of early childhood, I am ready to enter this next era, too. My older daughter entered 6th grade last week, marking the end of a seven-years-long chapter of elementary school. At each age and stage I've seen my older three children enter, I find so much fun and joy there.
This week marks the first time in over 13 years when Ty and I don't have a child under the age of 5 we are caring for. THIRTEEN YEARS of having babies, toddlers, preschoolers, and often all at once!
I, for one, am ready for this next chapter to unfold. Good thing I took a million pictures and videos along the way so I can curl up on my couch and let that rosy-hued nostalgia wash over me, whispering lies like "It wasn't really that hard, Erin." and giving me guilt trips like "Why couldn't you just relax and be more present when they were that little, Erin?"
Well, because I was living it every single day, and couldn't come up for air until just now!
Let the Kindergarten games, begin!
So candid and beautiful . I look forward to reading your Blogs, they inspire me