A thin, disappearing line

I'm walking a thin, disappearing  line.

On one side is my daughter and our past: her as a baby, paci in mouth; having to sleep-train her, worried she would cry all night; potty-training her, worrying she'd go to college in diapers.

On the other side is my daughter and who she is today, about to be launched into adulthood.

I'm being a bit dramatic. She's only starting Kindergarten tomorrow.

But I am on this line.

Looking back.

And looking forward.

Wanting to pull her backward and just hit pause for a minute.

Part of me is so sad. Because it was yesterday that I was holding her in my arms, crying and amazed at this little person we were somehow so lucky to have.

I remember her first steps. Her first words. Her first real joke ("Knock knock." "Who's there?" "Banana." "Banana who?" "Banana strawberry." Genius).

And it really was yesterday.

On the other hand, here she is.

This amazing, amazing, hilarious, intelligent, beautiful, kind-hearted little girl.

Heading off with a ladybug backpack and an ice cream cone lunchbox.

I know I can't stop time, make her stay the same age.

But it seems too fast.

Before we know it, she'll be headed off to college.

Coming home every few months to do laundry, stock up on food and Christmas presents and cash.

She'll be her own person.

With her own thoughts.

Her own ideas.

And (hopefully) less stuffed animals.

And if five years have gone this fast, isn't it just around the corner?

It's irritating when people make small talk about how "it goes so fast".

But I am realizing more and more, that she's growing up and will eventually pull away from us.

I know it's natural and normal, and I want it to be that way.

But at the same time, I want her to always raise her arms up to me and say, "Carry me." (not like Suri Cruise, but similar)

I want her to always want to sit next to me.

And kiss her booboos away.

But times they are a-changing.

Tomorrow, we start her school career.

She'll have homework. After school activities. Playdates with kids we've yet to meet.

I'm so excited for her.

But my excitement is tempered by sadness.

I just can't imagine our lives not being what they are now: perfect.

Or pretty damn close.

So as I sit here, red wine in hand, nursing my insecurities and worrying about the future,

she's sound asleep.

Not a worry in her pretty little head.

She's so excited about this Kindergarten thing we've been talking about for months.

Unaware of how much things will change in just a few hours.

There will, of course, be so much good that will come out of it.

She's going to learn so much, make new friends, and start becoming the person she's going to be.

And I cannot wait to see who she is. What she does. Where she'll go.

She is so freaking amazing.

But right now, I can't imagine her not wanting to wear her princess nightgown.

Or not clinging to Frog Prince, Molly, Carly and Gloria (her animals that are pasted to her side at night).

I know it's selfish. And I know I'm not unique.

I know all parents go through this.

But tonight, this line I'm standing on is fading.

Tomorrow, we'll step over the line together.

And there'll be no going back.

I know it has to happen.

But my heart is aching a little right now.

It's coming....

She's going off to kindergarten soon.

And I'm starting to freak out.

Just saying.

Make new friends

Today, I took my daughter to her Kindergarten meet-up.

It's actually a brilliant move on CPS' part.

We go in to meet the teacher, the other kids.

Kind of an orientation before the real day this fall.

Great, right?

She was nervous.

I'd been telling her for a couple weeks about all the friends she'd make.

All the fun they'd have.

But she was nervous.

"But where will you be, Mama?"

Right next to you.

"How long do we have to stay?"

Not too long. But it's going to be fun, so who knows!

We started walking to the school.

And I realized...

that I was nervous.

For both of us.

Yes, these are formative days for her.

And yes, it'll take a minute for her to adjust. (It was literally a minute.)

And I know she'll be fine.

But me?

We walked into the building,

that smelled like every elementary school in the world: chalk, wood desks and xerox paper.

Here were all these (mostly) women: most of whom have stayed at home with their kids for five years.

All the way up to this point.

And there I was, also a veteran.

Of three weeks.

Standing in the chaos of this classroom.

Kids running around, looking at the class pet fish.

At the class pet crab (?).

And it somehow felt...like my first day of school.

Or my first day on a new planet.

What will we have in common?

I made awkward conversation with other awkward parents.

There were those who knew each other from their kids having been here for preschool.

And they chatted like they'd known each other for years.

I'm not used to being left out.

But there it was.

I kept trying to act normal.

Talking to my daughter.

Ooh-ing and aah-ing about the fish.

"Yes, they have a fish, honey!"

But my daughter was already a part of this scene.

Already starting the courting dance of kids getting to know one another.

("Mommy, Sophie's sitting next to me!")

And I was the wallflower.

For probably the first time since my first day of kindergarten.

I was on the sidelines.

We left the kids with their teacher and their fish, and headed to the cafeteria.

About 100 people, gathered at picnic-style tables, in a fluorescent room.

I sat with someone I knew through a mutual friend.

But she (traitor) was talking mostly to the people she'd met through preschool.

"Oh, the good old preschool days!" Laugh, laugh. Ha, ha.

So I sat, studying the school papers that were handed to us as we walked in.

When suddenly, a woman across the picnic table from me, said, "Hi, I'm Ruth."

Ruth?

As in Old Testament?

"I'm __________."

Small talk, small talk.

What class is your daughter in?

Where do you live?

Do you have any other kids?

Do you work?

"No," I said, fumbling for an easy explanation.

"I was in advertising, until recently.

Now I'm home freelancing."

That should do it.

Quick and painless.

Ruth: "What agency?"

Come again?

"Uh, _____________," I replied, a bit confused, but hopeful.

She smiled.

"I'm a freelancer, too. I'm a designer."

Ding ding ding!

Then we talked about everything.

The industry.

The possibility of actually freelancing while being home with a kid.

The projects we've worked on.

Then, she turned to a guy next to her and said, "This is my husband, Leonard.

He's a planner."

I'd hit the kindergarten-mom-trying-to-make-friends jackpot.

And he was British.

(Why are all planners British?)

I started to relax.

And talking to Ruth and Leonard, actually got the ball rolling.

I met Jennifer (strange, clingy, gossipy mom of twins)

I met Wendy (absolutely stunning mom to Sophie, a mix of Spanish and German.)

I was beginning to feel like the prom queen.

We exchanged email addresses and talked of playdates.

To get the kids together.

To get them comfortable.

To get us all comfortable.

And as I walked home,

with my little girl sing-songing about how much fun she had,

when she'd been so full of anxiety about this day,

I let out a deep breath.

It was a success all around.

She was so happy.

And somehow, I know,

that at least for now,

she's okay.

She's resilient.

And adaptable.

And good at making friends.

And today I helped show her

that life is about meeting new people.

Experiencing new things.

Being brave and kind and friendly.

But the thing I hadn't expected

was to come away from this,

her "first day" of school,

having learned something myself.

I've been doing the same thing, in the same circles, for close to 20 years.

And I've become set in my ways, set with my group of work friends and college friends.

I was so worried and focused on my daughter being able to adjust and make new friends,

that I lost sight of the fact that this is a skill

I need to brush up on, too.

Going from being around people you've known forever, and people you work with and see more than your family,

to being around complete strangers,

who are now part of your child's future...

And therefore yours...

is a strange feeling.

I really do have a lot to learn.

What should I wear tomorrow?

That's what I'd think about before going to work every day.

What kind of jeans-and-t-shirt-combo can I come up with for tomorrow?

Client meeting?

Jeans and a nice shirt.

But...no longer.

I no longer work.

I'm retired.

Or semi-retired.

And I'm living to tell about it.

After almost 20 years as a working woman--5 of them as a working mom--I have left the building.

It was a decision my husband and I had discussed over and over again over the last several months.

The ad industry has morphed from a fun, exhilarating field...to what it is now.

And I needed to get out.

So we pored over the numbers. Adding. Subtracting.

Yes, subtracting a lot.

Then re-adding. Re-subtracting. Re-figuring.

But once an opportunity for me to "let myself go" arose, there was no question in my mind.

So now I'm spending the days with my 5-year-old-going-on-kindergarten daughter.

We go to the park.

We go to lunch.

We go get yogurt.

We read. Have "school".

We play, like I haven't played with her in years.

And I'm so happy.

I was worried that it would be a huge adjustment. That I'd regret my decision. That I'd realize I'd made a huge mistake.

But I'm so. Incredibly. Happy.

It's the best decision I've made since deciding to have a baby. (and before that, deciding to get these cute black wedge boots that are with me to this day)

Sure, it's only 2 weeks in. And everything still seems sparkly and wonderful.

But I don't get that stressed out feeling anymore.

You know.

When you dread going to work on a Sunday night...or in my case, toward the end of my career, the feeling I had every night. And in the shower the next morning.

That stress is gone.

In its place is a kind of wonder.

Wonder. That I'm making this work.

That my husband is so amazing and supportive and happier now than before (most likely due to me not snapping at him every 5 minutes now that I'm free).

I'm a stay at home mom.

Kind of a strange title.

But I'm home. Doing freelance when I'm not pushing my daughter on the swings.

Being with her and being present.

Instead of rushing her to hurry-up-and-eat-dinner or hurry-up-and-walk-faster.

Because really, there's nothing to hurry for right now.

We are making our own days.

We are doing what we want, when we want to do it.

Until fall.

When she'll start kindergarten.

This fall, she'll run straight into the schoolyard.

And begin a running-away-from-me that I won't be able to control.

But this. I can control.

And I think I timed it pretty well.

Because no matter what, I'll never regret this.

I'll never regret walking away from a career that was killing me,

And walking toward my life...

It's going to be a good summer.

The little things

Wow, it's been over a year since I last wrote. This one is going to be short...

Tonight, while we were driving home from work/school, my little girl paused in singing her Lady Gaga song and said, "Mama, I want to stay the same age forever." Out of the blue. Apropos of nothing.

I turned to look back and smile at her, and she was wearing her sunglasses. At 6pm. In the pitch dark of winter rush hour.

I said, "Me, too, honey. Me too."