This last weekend I helped a friend with her son’s high school graduation party. Afterwards, I couldn’t help but ponder what it would be like to be at that point with my own children. How will I feel once I’ve raised them to the point where they no longer need me in the overwhelming ways they do right now? How will it feel to know that I’m done with that particular phase of this “job” of parenting, that I’ve nurtured this little human into a person capable of going out into the world?
Right now, I can’t imagine it. The oldest will turn eight in less than a month, and the younger two are three and one. That moment for me is worlds away.
To be entirely honest, I’m not even ready for the three year old to start preschool. She has been home with me since she was born. The oldest went to daycare when she was young, so going to preschool wasn’t much of a change. But the three year old doesn’t have much practice being away from me.
And for that matter, I don’t have much practice being away from her.
The idea of dropping her off somewhere and returning a couple hours later–of not knowing what she’s been up to for that time, of not knowing what was hard for her or what made her laugh–feels terrible. In my mind, she is still so small. Who will help if her teacher doesn’t understand what she is asking for? Who will hold her when she gets nervous and needs a break? Will she make friends? Will people be nice to her?
Though it may not be evident yet, I do know the logical side of this argument. I know that, in those moments, she will learn to help herself. I know that is an important lesson for her to learn because it will help her build the confidence to know that she is capable of helping herself. I know that building said confidence is the point, so that she is able to be an independent, functional human being in this world. It’s the goal of parenting, to get to that moment when we know we’ve done it. We’ve raised a human.
So I guess the real problem isn’t her readiness. It’s mine. I have to let her take those little steps into the world on her own so that she knows what she is capable of on her own. I have to let her be scared so that she knows she can handle it. I have to let her be confused and hurt and misunderstood. Because she is strong enough for all of those things and it’s important that she learns that.
The only way she can learn that she can handle the hard stuff is to let her handle the hard stuff.
But that means I have to stand back and let her be scared and hurt and confused and misunderstood. And I’m not ready. Seeing your child struggle sucks, even if you know it’s for a reason, that it will make them better.
As I was thinking about the impending suckiness of letting my kids grow up and learn and my inevitable not-readiness, I did have one hopeful thought:
Maybe I’m not supposed to be ready yet.
After all, she is three. I’m not supposed to feel ready to send her off to college. I’m not supposed to be ready to see her struggle and hurt. I’m not supposed to be ready for the hard stuff right now.
Some of those things I may never be ready for. Some of them I may eventually be ready for, or at least more ready than I am now. But probably, being “ready” isn’t something that happens overnight. It’s something that will happen gradually over time, one little milestone at a time.
Probably.