A new season of motherhood

This photo has two captions. The first is celebratory: School’s out for summer! 

Here’s the second: 

I recall one day, about ten years ago, when my firstborn was venturing out to the edges of the playground, a bit too far. As I watched my son, my friend watched me. I sensed she was wondering why I’d not yet run after him. 

"I keep him on a long leash," I said. 

A few seconds later, when my son finally pushed beyond my personal comfort zone, I sprinted after him and redirected him to the slide or the sandbox or some other safe area. 

I was so confident in my long-leash parenting style. 

But these days, I want to shorten the leash. I want to, but I resist. 

Motherhood feels like a recipe that’s been passed on for generations but no one ever wrote it down. And so I'm not exactly sure of the measurements: How much holding on? How much letting go? Is this a good time to ask questions? Is sitting in silence better? Should I console? Or is this the time for tough love? 

I let my children know I’m close. I cheer them on and congratulate their wins. I offer comfort and encouragement through pain and loss. I push them to see and rise up to their potential. And yet, there are so many moments, like this photo, when the distance feels physical. They are growing up, and life is beginning to serve up all of its lessons. I can’t swoop through the air and rescue them from their own experience.

This is the stage of motherhood that we don’t talk about much. When our identities shift once again. Our roles are no longer rooted in strapping toddlers in car seats. Long gone are the days of changing their diapers as they resist being potty-trained (and yet insist on following you to the bathroom to watch you go.)

This photo. This is what motherhood feels like right now. 

My child calls out, "Mom, you ready?" 

"Yes, I’m ready!” (Deep breath) “One…two…three. Jump!”