Always Letting Go

The truth of this quote is almost crushing.

I’m learning that being a mom is the hardest job I have had so far.

So, Connor got a train this Christmas from Grandma and Grandpa, a cute little Lego Duplo
train set with a small circular track that moves around by itself after you push a little green button.
But to Connor, this train was a monster from some unknown universe. He was deathly afraid of it
and when I would push the button for the train to go around the track he would scream and run
and cling to me for dear life.

And since Christmas, this is how it has been. He sits in my lap cringing with fear as he waits for
me to push the button. I’m giving the same speech, “It’s ok, Connor, it’s just a little train.
I promise it’s not going to hurt you. Come on, baby, push this little green button.”
As I push the button to start the train, there he sits, clinging to my finger, getting as close as he
possibly can while keeping his eyes glued to that scary monster chugging around the track.

I am his protector. I am his security. I will keep that menace from harming him.

As hard as this is to admit, and I realize absolutely selfish, I was actually glad he was scared of
the train. Moments like that where he clings to me for protection are few and far between and I
savored every second of him sitting there in my lap, his blonde hair brushing against mine, his
stubby little fingers grasping my hand, the smell of syrup from breakfast still lingering.
In those moments, he was my baby boy.

Well, last night he finally overcame his fear of the train. It happened so quickly. One moment he just
decided to have a go at it. He walked up, pushed it with intention and ran away as the little train
started its journey. This time he didn’t run to my lap. He didn’t even look to me for assurance.
He was a big brave boy- just like I had been trying to convince him he was. And underneath the surge
of love and pride I felt for him at that moment, sadness bubbled up.

It’s moments like this that the paradox of motherhood rings so loud and clear. I must let go.
Always let go.

This is why the job is so hard. Pushing and coaching and sometimes coaxing for Connor to do
something, to acquire a new skill, and then once it happens, he’s suddenly different. In the blink of an
eye. He’s not my baby boy anymore. He’s my big boy. He’s on his way to becoming the strong,
independent man that I hope he will be.

And so it will be. A lifetime of tiny moments like this one that force me to let go.
As if the time didn’t already go fast enough, these little moments remind me to soak up every
detail of the time I have with him now.

And pray.

I’m not sure how my heart will be able to handle it!