This morning my daughter and I had the best time ever, a sentiment shared and articulated by both of us. Before I continue, let me rewind a bit. Recently, I began to recognize that we as a family are entering into a new stage. Jack will be eight in December, and Allegra just turned four. Yes, they are both still young children, but babies no longer. The other evening Jack, who is generally within arm’s reach, took my husband’s iphone and shut himself into his room. When I peeked in to check up on him, he looked rather perturbed and informed me that he was listening to music and would appreciate his privacy. Hold up now. Weren’t you just a baby like two minutes ago??? Even my daughter, who is still a little preschooler, is becoming more and more independent. And all of this is good. I know. I know. I know. Yet, as the tic of the clock gets louder and louder and time seems to move faster and faster, I can’t help but feel, well, sad.
So, my husband Giorgio has tweaked his schedule so that every Thursday morning he can go out to breakfast with Jack and do some type of special activity with him. This gives me some rare time to spend with just Allegra. So today Allegra and I decided to grab some munchkins, eat them in the car and go for a bike ride.
As all parents know, even the best laid plans can result in disaster with children. Spontaneous meltdowns, fights, disappointments, can occur at the most unpredictable times. Yet today, none of those things happened. I walked beside my little one as she rode her bike and we chatted and chatted and chatted about everything. Then we decided to head over to the park since we had some more time before we had to meet Jack and my husband back at home. My daughter and I were just happy, so happy in fact, that I became sad. The park was nearly empty, the sky was gray, the air was cool; it was the perfect scenario. We ran up slides, rode the see saw, climbed monkey bars, swung on the swings. And despite all of my joy, I felt a pang in my heart. It seems like just yesterday that I was playing at the park with my Jack, my Jack who now refuses to go to parks, who now shuts himself up in his room to listen to his music. My time with Jack as a baby and toddler and preschooler went by so fast. As I looked at my daughter’s smiling face I thought, my God, we won’t be doing this for much longer. So, even though we should have headed home, we stayed a bit longer and played and laughed and talked.
On the ride home Allegra said to me, “Mommy, I didn’t want to leave. You didn’t want to leave. We had the best time ever. But it had to end.” Yes, it had to end. And this is the great sorrow of motherhood. Time marches on, our little ones grow, yet we, us mothers, remain the same. We still have the same great love for our little ones who we once cradled in our arms, and pressed our cheeks against their fuzzy little heads, and picked up and swung in the air, and our little ones grow and become independent, and, as all mothers wish for their children, find their own loves and make their own families so that they too can someday cradle their little ones in their arms and feel fuzzy heads against their cheeks. And so it goes, mothers holding babies, watching them grow, saying good bye, all the while feeling incredible love and joy and sorrow and loss.