"Mom! Don't follow the bus, just pull over here and we'll wait. And don't look at anybody, either!"
I was dropping off my son to meet a school bus that would take him to his new middle school. We'd never done this before, and he'd never ridden a bus to school. In the recent past, I had driven him right up to the front of his school and let him out - with a kiss and hug and a 'I love you, have a great day,' exchange before he got out.
Before that, he would want me to park the car and walk with him to his classroom. We would stand quietly together in front of his classroom with his little, warm hand in mine and wait for the teacher to open the door.
And even before that, I remember carrying him into the classroom, and then sitting quietly in one of those back breaking little toddler size chairs while he acclimated himself to the idea of being in a room full of other kids. We were used to being home alone together all day long, doing as we pleased, and it was a big transition for my little angel.
I sat in those tortuous little chairs on the sidelines for about 10 days, before the teacher came up to me and gently suggested that he seemed to be adjusting nicely, and that maybe from now on I could just drop him off in the classroom. So the next day we said our goodbyes at the door to the classroom. My little angel gave me a big kiss and hug, saying, “I love you, Mommy!” and then walked in on his own. He looked back - but just to blow me another kiss, which I caught and pressed to my heart. The teacher was right, he was ready.
And - I realized I wasn't.
I had heard the story of this moment before, and scoffed at it. I always had figured I wasn't going to be THAT kind of mom. I had a life and career outside of my kids, I didn't need them to affirm my self worth or identity, right? Ha. In that moment, I realized it wasn't about my ego. It wasn’t about my head, but about my heart. My little angel was a gift of love, and being around him reminded me of everything good and right with the world. He was pure hope and joy personified, and I was so grateful to be with him.
But I knew from that day on, I would have to share my little angel with the world.
I think I'm preaching to the choir if I say that raising children is the toughest job on the planet. It feels like part of your heart and soul has been wrenched from deep inside your very being and is now walking around outside your body in the form of a small helpless little child that needs your constant protection and guidance.
At the same time, 'kids will suck the life out of you' a friend of mine once said, and he was right. I remember the feeling of FINALLY kissing those little heads good night, only to collapse in bed and wonder where I was going to find the strength to do it all again the next day. They require so much of your mental and physical energy, day in and day out -
Until one day, they DON'T.
Back in the car, my son checked his hair in the mirror one more time before mumbling “See ya” and getting out to stride casually towards the bus.
I watched him go. He didn't look back as he boarded the bus, he didn't need to anymore. But as he reached up and grabbed the door handle of the bus, I imagined I saw a glimpse of his angel wings peeking out from beneath his coat.
'Fly my little angel, fly...the world is a lucky place to have you in it,' I thought to myself as I started up the car and drove away.
Julie Hale, LMFT is a psychotherapist in private practice on the Westside. She has 3 children, all of which are growing up way, WAY too fast. To learn more about her please visit www.Juliehale.net
