subject: Really When You Grow Up What You Will Do [print this page] Every night, after he got into bed, I sang a silly song, a song-our song. "Stay low, stay low, little by little the stay. Small short stay small room"
She laughed and smiled. The next morning I would say, "Look. They grew. The song did not work."
I sang that song for years, and every time I finished, he crossed his heart and promised that will not grow.
Then one night, I stopped singing. Who knows why. Perhaps his door was closed. Maybe she was studying. Maybe she was on the phone talking to someone. Or maybe I realized it was time to give permission to grow.
I think now that our song must have had a bit of magic, because every night I sang it, she was still a baby ... four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten. He felt the same. Even had the same look. He got taller and his feet got bigger and some teeth fell out and the new expanded, but still had to remind them to brush his hair and take a shower once in a while.
She played with dolls and clay. Despite Candy Land was abandoned by Monopoly and Clue, through a table, she still was. For years, she was like those wooden dolls that nest one inside the other, identical in everything but size.
Or at least that's what I saw. She roller-skated and ice skating and tumbling in the malls and blew bubbles and drew pictures that hung on the refrigerator. Yodels and ate snow cones and woke up early Sunday mornings to watch Davey and Goliath.
Never slept through the night, not ten months, not ten years. When I was little, she woke up and cried and carried me to bed with me. When it became bigger, wake up and make your way down the aisle, and in the morning, I was lying beside me.
Used to put the notes under the pillow before going to bed. I used to put notes in their bologna sandwiches before going to school. Used to wait for the phone when I was away. I waited at the bus stop to come home.
The song, notes, awakening to find her beside me, waiting at the bus stop, all these things ended long ago. Up now is a young woman, an adult. She has been raised for a while. Everyone has seen them all, except me.
I look today, a week before she graduates from high school, and I'm proud of her, proud of the person who has become. But I'm sad, not too much for her, but for me. There has been a child in this house for twenty years. In the first place you grew up, and then the other, but it was always a ... baby.
Now that the baby grows. And despite what people tell me, do not lose, they go, but return home again, you like the quiet when he's gone, the next part of life is the best, I know that what ahead won "t be like it was.
I loved how it was. I loved when she crawled into my office and set up his toy typewriter next to mine. I loved watching you run down the hall in the nursery directly in my arms, after a separation of only two and a half hours. I love running to buy stickers and hiking and movies. I loved your driving to the gym and listen to your friends. I loved being the one she ran to when I was happy or sad or scared. I loved being the center of their world.
"Mom, come play with me."
"Mom, I'm home."
"Mom, I love you bestest and wider."
What replaces these things?
"Want to see my cap and gown?" He says now, looking at my office. That is sustained.
She smiles. She is happy. Good for her. She kisses my cheek and says, "I love you, Mom." And then she walks up.
I sit at my desk, and though my heart hurts, I smile. I think it is a privilege of motherhood is and how lucky I am. the author comes from www.storeingame.com
