I just made sure Lucy's car seat was properly installed in Scott's mom and stepdad's car, gave her some kisses, and sent her off for an overnight.
I feel like God is teaching me something here that I'm being a tad belligerent about (can you even BE a tad belligerent?) Isn't that like saying something is unpleasantly hellacious? Anyway, I'm a tad belligerent about letting her out of my sight. And I've realized through some comments and through some soul searching of my own that this is MY cross to bear - certainly not hers.
Let me explain.
Ever since she was conceived I have struggled with the what-ifs. What if we don't make it to 13 weeks (which sort of happened in that pregnancy)? What if we do, and then she has one of a number of birth defects (which she did, and that really did a number on me)? What if she is stillborn? What about SIDS? What about choking, drowning, pedophiles, car accidents? Dog bites, sepsis, falling down the stairs, getting run over by a car? Isn't it within her best interest for me to ALWAYS be with her, and protect her from these things?
This morning I was on the phone trying to get a doctor's appointment scheduled, when I heard the paper shredder go, and then a scream. I dropped the phone and ran to her - made sure she was ok, that the paper shredder teeth weren't covered in liquid scarlet, and then told myself I was a dolt for allowing her anywhere near the thing (we store it up high - I was just trying to do too many things at once.) My father in law has now rescued Scott's Sprint Treo stylus from the jaws of the thing, and tonight when Scottie gets home and notices it I will play clueless and pretend that the reason half of it is gone is because Asher is teething, duh! Such a near miss with those little fingers.
I almost phoned his parents this morning and called the thing off.
I looked at Lucy and reconsidered.
All morning she's said, "Hey, Mom! I'm ready to go!" She's packed and unpacked her Hello Kitty suitcase 98.4 times, carried it around behind her and on her back (it's so full she looks like the life of the party at a frat house as she walks). I will be working in the kitchen and overhear her say, "Oh, Hello Kitty, you're doing SUCH a good job following me! I love you SO much!" and I'll watch her give HK loving caresses (keep in mind that it's only HK's image on the suitcase, which makes it extra funny.) Every car that passes by she SWEARS is Grandma and Grandpa. Except, for all intents and purposes, Grandma and Grandpa are a gay couple, because she says, "Grampa 'n Grampa." We got home from Target and she was running around in the weeds next to the house, just sure they were in there somewhere. "Grampa! Grampa! I see you!"
As we ate lunch today I kept saying, "Lucy, do you want to stay here, or do you want to go with Grampa and Grampa?"
Through a mouthful of pizza - "Grampa and Grampa."
Damn it.
"Lucy, wouldn't it be fun to stay and see Mommy and Daddy tonight?"
"Grampa and Grampa."
"We could get you a new ELMO coloring book!"
"Grampa and Grampa."
Her grandparents love her, and she them. I've had the discussion with them about my concerns, which were 100% unfounded. I asked Scott when the danger would end; when I would stop worrying. "When you quit drawing breath." He also reminded me last night that his mom is anal-retentive on child safety and proper nutrition, etc. "More attentive than I am?" He spat out his toothpaste and looked at me, grinning slightly.
::sigh::
I am delusional if I thought Lucy was ever mine. Yes, she's my daughter. But she never was MINE mine, nor was she intended to be. God gave her to us to raise, to the best of our abilities. But our responsibility ends there. There is no way I can protect her from everything in this world.
I hear her tell her brother how much she loves him and, "Brudda, you are doing a GREAT job, babes!" as he swings to and fro and covers his overalls in slimy baby drool, trying to focus on an object just over her head. She's learning those things from me, and it makes me happy. But what else am I teaching her when I can't let her go and experience running through the sprinklers with Grandma and Grandpa, watching the special Elmo DVD they got her, making cookies together. I got those memories, why can't she have them, too? It isn't ABOUT her not being ready, it's about ME not being ready. It's about me NEVER being ready to give up control - and that's the principle dilemma. It's NOT going to get easier when she's 4, or 6, or 17. For me, it's got to start now.
I have had my share of near-misses: being lost at a family reunion for 5 hours when I was 2 (my mom was sure she wouldn't see me alive again), almost drowning in a swimming pool when I was 4, meeting guys from the internet at their houses, a mangled Honda accord that reason would say I never should have walked away from. All of these things were things without the realm of my parents' control.
Lucy is a social little girl. I worry over her all the time. Honestly, I worry over her a hell of a lot more than I pray over her.
Taking that mental step to give up that worry so that she can have the freedom is so hard. But OCD and depression are my crosses to bear, not hers.
As I watch her grin at me through the car window as they drive down the street, I know I've done something for her. Tears blur my vision as I witness her joy.
It's always a letting go.
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