Parenting can feel like an act of mapping, of surveying: where are the children and how far from my grasp are they at this exact moment? I am learning that they come and go.
You move them out of a womb to somewhere very nearby. In the case of Lu, for the first three months of her life, she was rarely more than INCHES from my body.
Then, some sooner than others, they go to sleep in a room that is feet…even YARDS from you. They are capable of this. Brighter parents than I learn this faster (Jason was one). When Lu was three months old, I came home from a happy hour to find Jason on the couch…at what was precisely Unhappy Hour with The Baby. “WHERE IS THE BABY?” “Asleep. In her crib.” For the first time in her tiny life. She made it through that night. I did, too.
Then, the moment they walk — the moment after they forget the Dumbo feather of your hand — they are walking AWAY.
And yet. When Lu figured out there wasn’t a forcefield around her crib, she came back —climbing out to stand in our doorway. “Mama?” I heard her little whisper, confused. And then I felt hot toddler breath and opened my eyes to hers: “MAMA.” And she was back for many, many nights after that.
They are always coming and going, but mostly they are going. I have so many pictures of her in front of me, walking into school on first days. In the later photos, she doesn’t even turn around to say goodbye. Is strange and sad to think there won’t even be an opportunity for that photo for this schoolyear for the foreseeable future.
And now, the velocity of her leaving has increased considerably: she got her driver’s license yesterday and made her first solo drive. The maps I survey will get bigger. But at least I can track her on her phone.