Monday, 5 October 2015

A mother continues to labor long after the baby is born

One morning last week after we went outside I realized that he is dressed too lightly for the weather. I dropped him to the bus, but then turned back home and got a heavy jacket for him. When I came to school the kids were standing by the school in groups and waiting to go inside. There he was, in the alpha boys circle, consumed by trading Pokemon cards. I came over and helped him to put the jacket on. He looked at me, in a matter of fact kind of way, put the jacket on, then backpack, and I knew I shouldn't try to give him a hug. He is in his male herd. Busy. I turned around and run back to the car. It was raining.

I knew this day would come. When I would become a matter-of-fact, not anymore a big deal appearing on the horizon after a whole day with these strangers he happens to make friends with. I knew other people and trading cards will become more important then my magnificent presence.
I knew he will grow up.

It still broke my heart.

So, last weekend I shared "the tragedy" with my parents. Dad said something simple:
Invest your time in him, and you'll be important. 

It took a bit of time to sink in, but I guess that's how grownup relationships work.
You invest time. One-on-one, up close and personal. The juice. The quality. Then, and only then, you can count on being  an influence.

I can no longer get discounts for giving birth, breastfeeding and getting 40 minutes of sleep per/every night. My mere being isn't going to be rewarded with a "MAMAAA!!" anymore no matter how far I go into zen.

It's right about time to stop the self-importance crap, embrace the change and get humble.

I can try to teach my kids how to live, but in the end it's them who teach me what life is all about.