When Maddie was born, I almost never put her down during the day. I nursed her, she slept, repeat. (Not to mention a gazilion diaper changes.) I am not exaggerating when I say I wasn’t even sure how to get up and get a glass of water or a snack or go to the bathroom. After all, I had a BABY to hold! I can’t get up. I’m holding the baby! I guess my version of attachment parenting was to be literally attached.
At night I’d put her down to sleep, but even then she was right next to me. She never accepted a bottle, and I breastfeed her for nearly 18 months. In the meantime, she started drinking water from a sippy cup and eating solid food, but until she was a full year, she would wake up multiple times per night to breastfeed. I finally had to ween her off the night feeding or I’d lose my mind. Waking up five times every night isn’t good for a person’s mental health.
I remember those early days so clearly. On rare occasions, we’d leave our precious child in the capable hands of one her grandmas. I knew she was safe and loved, but the pull she had on me was so powerful. After about an hour of separation, anxiety would start niggling at me. I tried to ignore it for the sake of having a date, however brief, with my husband. At the ninety-minute mark, though, I couldn’t take it anymore and home we went. It may have been largely biological at first: my body telling me it was time to feed her.
When Maddie was three years old, she was enrolled in a program for young children with speech delays. She went to a special preschool in another town, about 20 minutes from our house. It was the first time ever that she had a life that wasn’t connected to mine. It was only two and a half hours a day, but I wanted so badly to know what was going on. She wasn’t talking much then, so it remained a mystery. It was a strange experience. It got even stranger when my little girl started taking the bus. I would put her in a car seat and wave goodbye, with a bus driver I didn’t know very well, off for a few hours without me. She absolutely loved her bus ride. and it turned out she was more ready for it than I could have imagined. Once she had a substitute driver who made a wrong turn, and she yelled, “I want to see my MOMMY!” Wrong way, lady! In the meantime, though, I watched the clock, anxiously awaiting her return home. (In contrast, the day my son finally started preschool–only two days a week–and Maddie was in first grade, it was the greatest day of my life. Six whole hours a week to myself!)
And now, even though my kids are both teens, I notice that it’s hard for me to fully disconnect from my family, even when I’m gone. Wherever I am and whatever I’m doing, my mind is always on my kids, especially Maddie. It’s as if a part of me is still at home. Or maybe that tether that connected me to my children when they were young is still there. It’s just a lot longer.
When Maddie was 12 she went to sleep-away camp for the first time. She was so little and young for her age, but she was dying to go. I was excited about this camp, too. It’s a performing arts camp founded, owned and run by a man who is equally passionate about sports, performing, and special education. It’s not a special education camp at all, but his mission is to make it a place where all kids are accepted and individuality is celebrated. (FYI If you’re interested: <ucamps.org.> I highly recommend it!)
I was happy for Maddie, a bit trepidatious about the whole thing, and a tiny bit looking forward to a week with only one child. It’s so much easier to have only one. But I couldn’t enjoy it at all. I was so anxious the entire week, wondering if Maddie was coping well with the this new experience, hoping she was making friends, wearing deodorant, sleeping okay, getting up when she was supposed to, and generally getting along in a situation of which I was not a part. I was anxious and worried and sleepless and unsettled. There was that tether.
Five years ago my sisters and my mom and I started a tradition which involved a long weekend away for my mom’s birthday, which always falls on or near Memorial Day. That seemed like a good enough reason, I guess, for me to leave my family for a couple days. But the first few years were challenging as I would often get a call from my son because things weren’t going well with Maddie. My heart would be torn nearly in half, one side feeling utterly helpless and guilty for not being home to manage the situation, and the other side wanting to be fully present for my mom’s birthday weekend. In the end, I couldn’t do either one of those things: I couldn’t help with Maddie from 300 miles away, nor could I disengage enough to really enjoy my weekend away.
Even when I’m gone for a few hours, it’s likely I will get a phone call or text, especially from my son. A part of me loves hearing from him. Another part wishes I could just put my home life in a box and put it on a shelf for a few hours so I can truly escape. That seems okay, doesn’t it?
Last weekend my husband was away at a yoga retreat. It was a few hours away at a beautiful, rustic site where there’s no electricity. It’s truly a retreat. He thought about taking his phone anyway, but I encouraged him to leave it behind so he could have the experience as it is intended. He has a lot of responsibility at work, and it can be stressful. This was an opportunity to be totally separated from everything and just relax.
Then it occurred to me. This weekend I get to go away with my sister. I’m so looking forward to my trip! I’ll miss my family but, wow, could I use a break. And you know how I’m going to make sure I get one? I’m going to turn off my phone. Of course I’ll think about my family, and I’m sure I’ll talk about them a lot, but I won’t have to manage anything from far away. I won’t have to hear about conflicts or complaints. I won’t have even have to answer questions! I have a capable husband and two big kids. They can do it.
I’m excited about my decision. I’m also a bit nervous. I’ve never done that before. Every once in awhile I forget my cell phone when I leave the house, and upon realizing that, I feel at first panic and then a secret sense of relief.
But this weekend I’ll still have a hard time not wondering, “Did the kids do their homework? Did Henry get to the soccer game on time? Did Maddie take a shower and brush her hair? Did she get enough sleep? Will she get up for school Monday? What awaits me when I return? ”
I’m pretty sure all moms feel that way. I think I worry a little more because Maddie requires so much extra parenting. And I’m used to handling most of it. But I have to remember: Even if things don’t go exactly as I hope, it’s okay. I have to let go of my expectations. Everyone will be fine, even if nobody sleeps or they eat French Fries for every meal. It’s certainly not what I prefer, but everyone will be OK. Even if Maddie doesn’t shower or brush her hair or go to school. Ugh. I’m not so sure about that last one. I have to work on that.
We shall see. I need a few days to disconnect. Or maybe the word is disengage, for how can I ever be truly disconnected from my kids?
I hope I can do it. I hope you can too someday.
The Year of Living Hopefully 