I have a GPS. I like it. You figure out where you have to go, you punch in your coordinates, you put your car in gear, and you trust the GPS to get you there, all safe and sound and accurate. Until. Until you get distracted by that mosquito that snuck into your car, and you miss your turn. So now you have to pull over, check your stats, and let the GPS "find an alternative route," since you've just screwed up doing it the right way. I personally enjoy watching the screen as "Veronica" (our GPS voice) swings the little car around, searching desperately to get us back on the road so that she can start bossing me around again~"In 5.6 miles, continue north." "In .4 miles, execute a left turn." Bzzzzzzzzzz! OOPS! I'm off track again, and looking to my GPS for some answers.
Parenthood is like GPS; only, when it comes to being a mom, or a dad, we have PGS~no, that's not a typo, it stands for "Parental Guidance System," and we all have one, somewhere. A few of us have even figured out how to program the thing, and let it help us along. Until. Yes, it's great, right up until we encounter a detour, an unexpected bump in our carefully-thought-out route, and unanticipated turn in the road, and then all bets are off, and we have to move on to the "alternative route," which, of course, can be very upsetting. Speaking for myself, I like what I know; I enjoy making lists and plans, and seeing them to completion. I mean, in no way do I "know it all;" I enjoy learning new things, and I'm all about the journey, but that being said, overall, I enjoy the comfort of feeling adept at something...okay, I like that feeling of being in some sort of control~but not in a freakish way. In a parental way, which is different, and, I'm sure, better.
For instance, for the last 18 years or so, I have felt basically at ease with this mothering thing, and it's gone along pretty much as planned. Oh, it's had it's uneasy moments, and I have absolutely been blessed with the proverbial village in raising my children, but I've always felt like I had a fairly firm grip on what I was doing. Of course, back then the kids needed me as much as I needed them, and there was a lot of "Is it done, or is it done my way," as well as some "What does your father think?," so we all knew our prospective roles; we knew our lines, and delivered them, for the most part, on cue. I could count, every day, on some small hand seeking the protection and comfort of being held firmly in my own...I love that feeling.
Enter the first child, pumping her wings, getting ready to venture out. Suddenly, the script is different, and I'm now relegated to a weird kind of lead supporting role ("and the award for Best Performance in the Role of Supportive-but-not-too-much Parent goes to...THAT guy!" I'm fairly certain that I am NOT that guy, by the way...). Overnight, it seems, this child, this wonderful person who has always volunteered a goodnight hug and kiss, who called to check in regularly, who always seemed to want me, front and center, in her world...in the blink of an eye, she is the lead character in her own life, and I'm standing here, ready for my close-up, but all of the cameras are pointed at my baby. Only she's not a baby, and as of now, her life is her own, and I have to step aside gracefully (yeah, right) and allow her to nail this performance~or not~on her own. Again, my question is: HOW???
Look, I have my own stuff to deal with, and I'm pretty sure that I have at least a few things which are independent of the kids...I think. But generally speaking, day-to-day, I'm the mom, right? Even if you're 567, I'm still the mom, it's what I do. That. Is. Who. I. Am. If you suddenly don't need me, or if you need me differently, which of course you will, who am I now?
I would like to lodge a formal complaint with the writers of the "Mothering for Dummies" manual...there are some very important sections which seem to be missing from my copy. At a glance, I seem to be lacking "When I want your opinion, which I will never admit, I'll ask for it," "How to be secretly adored and publicly ignored," "I can handle it, mom, but can you make sure I'm up by 8?," "YES, I will be sure to eat enough and will always walk in well-lit areas only at noon in populated places," and "MOTHER!!! Please stop calling. I Am Alive." I'm sure that there are other missing sections, as well; I've been too busy staring at my unbothered phone to read much, these days.
The crazy thing is, my head knows stuff that it is very slow to share with my heart. I know that you are going to leave. I also know that you'll be back. I know that you're not stupid. I also know that you are young. I know that you are courageous. I also know that you are fearful. I know that you can slay your own dragons, now. I also know that I'd still rather slay them for you. I know that I will always be here for whatever you need. I also know that you'll ask less and less, and that breaks my heart a bit, even though that's how it should be. I know that I did the same thing to my mom, and that I need to say "I'm sorry" to her immediately.
I remember when my mom was the center of my world, and I'm ashamed to say that I can't remember when that started to change. I understand now, though, that that is just another of the pains of child-rearing: You raise these magnificent people, people who you admire and want to be with and bask in, and then you realize that you've raised them this way, not for you, but for others. You want them to stay with you, but it's so important that they go out and make a path of their own, that they begin to use~clumsily at first, but gaining skill with every strike~the tools with which you have gifted them; tools, perhaps which were gifted to you by your own parents. You want to be a part of their journey, but you come to realize that this time-around, you have to wait for an invitation, while it seems like everyone else just sails right through the front door. You have to accept that, no matter how bitter. This is the next step, and even though it can hurt like labor all over again, it's okay, and it isn't personal, and it's necessary. It's that detour, that unanticipated bump in the road, and you have to let your PGS re-route you.
So, kiddos, I'm trying to be an adult about this, I really am. I'm very sorry, but I didn't apply for any other position; this is what I know. I don't mean to infringe on who you are, kid. It is noteworthy, though, and only fair to mention, that helping you to become this person has pretty much been the focal point of my days and nights, and as such, I am interested to see how the whole thing works out, so if you could be patient and allow me to fade into the background a little less quickly, that would be great.
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