My baby girl, my one and only child, is now 8. She, who was once a 4 lb 2 oz wiggly creature is now 8. Eight. When she sits on my lap, she is now all gaily legs an giggles, not the small bundle cooing and sleeping in my arms.
My baby is growing up. ( insert long sigh here)
And while seeing her grown amazes me, a little part of me is sad. Looking back, I see a short 8 years from when she was a newborn. Looking forward, I see a short 10 years until I have a young adult. And then there’s all the years in between…
And then the anxieties that come with motherhood start to creep in.
The biggest question…
How am I doing in this motherhood thing?
After all, she came with no instruction manual. I have had no other children to practice on. She is my great experiment in parenting.
I’ve already been through some of the stages of independence. Crawling, cruising, walking, running.
She didn’t need me to carry her anymore.
And then the ” I can do it myself, Mommy” stage. When she really couldn’t, but I had to let her try.
She didn’t need me to do as much for her.
Now she has friends that she sits and giggles with, and shares secrets.
I am no longer the entire center of her world.
It’s going to get worse, I’m sure of it. Soon will be the teen years. And driving. And boys.
Then, in the blink of an eye, she will be off to college, spreading her wings in the world, hopefully as well prepared as we hope.
The weight of 8… being comforted by memories of the past while looking toward an uncertain future. Trying to embrace each day and each new independence as the good thing as it is; all the while knowing that my baby is slipping away and being replaced with this ever-becoming-new person. A child who, despite my fears of not being needed, will always need her mother.
Have courage, Mommies!
Love, Dr. Peaches
