“Ever has it been that love knows not its own depth until the hour of separation.”

Kahlil Gibran

Over the last month, it seems as though Fig has become more attached to me than usual.  She’s sleeping through the night now and I’m down to only two breast-feeds each day, so she may [...]]]>

“Ever has it been that love knows not its own depth until the hour of separation.”

Kahlil Gibran

Over the last month, it seems as though Fig has become more attached to me than usual.  She’s sleeping through the night now and I’m down to only two breast-feeds each day, so she may be feeling as though she has less ‘up-close-and-personal-time’ with Mama.  These days, if she’s awake, she’s glued to my hip, which makes it challenging to leave the house without her.  The girls have only really known one babysitter thus far: my mother.  Yes, we know how lucky we are to have family close by; especially a grandmother who is so willing and wonderful…but that’s another post.

Lately, every time Grandma P. comes over to watch the girls, (which is at least once each week,) Fig immediately starts following me around the house with her arms outstretched, crying, “Mama!”   Fig often has to be wrenched from my arms, before I make a quick exit.   I know that she calms down quickly, and my mom is great at distracting Fig, but it’s unpleasant, to say the least.

One morning Grandma P. managed to distract Fig while I put on my boots and coat, and grabbed my purse.  I waved silently to Mom and she nodded quickly.  Without saying anything, we knew we were both thinking the same thing: that I should get out while the getting was good!

I slipped out the door, walked down the stairs and around the house to my car.  I even sat down in the driver’s seat, and then I thought, “I can’t do it.  I can’t leave this way.”   I hadn’t said good-bye to Pip or to Fig.  It didn’t feel right.  I have always wanted to instill trust in my daughters.  I don’t want them to think that Mama can disappear at any time.  I want them to know that I’ll always be honest with them, and that I have faith they can handle any situation.

So, I went back inside.  My mom looked surprised.  ”Sorry Mom,” I said, “I don’t want to sneak out the back door, I want to say good-bye properly and face the music.”  My mom completely understood.  I gave each of my daughters a kiss and a hug and I said ‘good-bye’ before I left.  And wouldn’t you know it, Fig just looked at me and said, “Bye, Mama!”

Mildred B. Vermont

Pip told me that I was ‘the greatest of love’ when I was tucking her into bed.  The greatest of love.  How does she do it?  How does this tiny person create the most [...]]]>

“Being a full-time mother is one of the highest salaried jobs…since the payment is pure love.”

Mildred B. Vermont

Pip told me that I was ‘the greatest of love’ when I was tucking her into bed.  The greatest of love.  How does she do it?  How does this tiny person create the most tender moments of my life?

I thought the most tender moment of my life was the first time I saw her face.  Then one day Pip smiled at me.  Next came the day she said “Mama” for the first time.  Soon she was saying, “I love you Mama,”  and now she articulates her love in unique and profound ways.  She continually gifts me with pure sweetness.

When I see new mothers in love with their newborn babies I think to myself, “Just you wait…you have no idea how much beauty is in store for you.”

I wonder if mothers of older children think the same way when they see me with my girls… or do they think, “Cherish these times, you’re not always going to be their number one person!”

I remember going to see Barbara Coloroso speak to an auditorium full of teachers and parents.  She was talking about teenagers and said, “If your fifteen-year-old tells you that she hates you, you’re probably doing a great job of parenting.”

Is that what we have to look forward to?  Maybe.  That’s when I’ll have to look back at these posts and re-live the moment that my daughter told me I was the greatest of love.

Walt Disney

Fig is making big, bold, beautiful steps toward independence.  She’s walking, talking, napping without nursing, and the other day we took our first ‘baby-carrier-less’ hike.  It’s true.  No stroller, no baby-backpack, no [...]]]> “Too many people grow up.  That’s the real trouble with the world, too many people grow up.”

Walt Disney

Fig is making big, bold, beautiful steps toward independence.  She’s walking, talking, napping without nursing, and the other day we took our first ‘baby-carrier-less’ hike.  It’s true.  No stroller, no baby-backpack, no  sling of any kind, just our high hopes, our crossed fingers and our thirty-pound toddler.  (Along with Pip and our trusty hound, of course!)

It wasn’t a long hike, (local readers will know the Nymph Falls trail,) but it was long enough that we wouldn’t want to carry Fig the entire way; she was going to have to walk.  And walk she did.  She looked so grown-up trudging along, admiring moss and picking up interesting sticks.  I found it hard to believe that the seemingly seasoned little hiker I was looking at was the same person who took her very first step less than two months ago.

At one point, where the trail borders the river, it was too dangerous for Fig to walk on her own so we tried to hold her hand.  Not a chance.  She had no interest whatsoever in accepting our hand-holding support.  After four or five attempts at taking her hand, we had no choice but to pick her up and carry her. Fig was infuriated.  She looked at me with eyes that said, “How dare you pick me up when I’m a perfectly competent walker?”

I could understand her frustration.  It must be confusing to be congratulated for walking-solo one minute, and reigned-in the next.  We took the time to explain to Fig exactly why we had to pick her up, (because we’ve deduced that she understands pretty much everything we say now), but she fussed and fidgeted in her daddy’s arms until it we reached the falls.

Once we set Fig down on the rock and she could see the powerful water rushing around us on all sides, she was happy to be kept safe in our arms.  I took a few steps away from my little family to take some photos.  I looked through the viewfinder and remembered the first time we’d brought Fig to this exact spot.  She’d been less than two weeks old, and she’d slept through the entire hike on her daddy’s chest as he carried her in the Baby Bjorn.  Time doesn’t fly, it bolts like lightning.

I took the photo of my two daughters, my husband and my dog and  thought, “There is no baby in this picture.”

It’s official.  My baby isn’t a baby anymore.  (But she’ll always be my baby.)

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