Simple Gifts: Confession

Monday night Braxton reached a milestone in his life. We transferred him from his crib to a toddler bed. It was a transition that had been looming over my head like a black cloud. Cribs are so convenient, so safe and most importantly, so cage-like. Seriously. It's the only thing I have to contain my little wild-man. Correction...had. I probably could have stretched his crib stay out a few more months. He had only jumped ship twice after all. But, with two growing boys in one room, I was anxious to free up some floor space by putting the toddler bed under the top bunk, where a twin mattress will eventually go.

He did surprisingly well. I put him in bed a little after 8:00pm. After some cuddle time and hair stroking I slipped quietly out of the room, leaving the door slightly ajar and waited for the inevitable escape. And escape he did. I put him back in bed and left again, this time closing the door. Poor fellow hasn't mastered the art of doorknob turning. And that was it. No more crying, he just got back in bed and fell asleep. Jeremy and I didn't dare say a word about how easy it was until at least 9:45pm, when we felt safe not to jinx it.

Then 12:30am rolled around. And here is the confession part. When I heard the sound of Braxton's squishy little rectangular feet toddling down the hallway towards my room, I felt happy. When I saw my sleepy, confused little guy reach up for me from the side of the bed, I felt relieved. My baby still needs me to feel like everything is okay. We snuggled quietly, both content to be together. I eventually put him back in bed. He cried, escaped and woke up Daddy. So that was the end of that nonsense.

As mothers, the longing to be near our children never goes away. In the beginning, that longing is reciprocated. Our babies want to be by our side all the time at first. Then they slowly become more independent, wanting to do things by themselves. They develop a need for companionship with other humans besides their mothers. They tolerate us lingering around for awhile, from a distance, but everyday our children take tiny steps away from us, gaining the confidence and wisdom to be their own person. They soon long for another kind of companion, someone to love and be loved by, someone to create their own family with. They no longer truly need their mothers to feel like everything is okay. But we are always here. Still longing to be near them, still hoping to be longed for.

I like to think it's like that with all animals. The mama lioness lounges contently watching her lion cubs play. She is happiest when they are nearby. She can smell them and hear the noises they make as they explore the world, safe under her watchful eye. The difference is, animal mothers are better at letting go than human mothers. That said, I don't believe I'm overly sentimental when it comes to my kids growing up. I really enjoy each stage they enter and welcome the milestones they reach. It makes me more proud than anything to watch them become more of themselves, and less of me. But I confess, there is always that desire. The longing to be close, to feel their presence and hear the soft pitter patter of them coming towards me late at night.