And the jolts just keep on coming...

I know that I’ve been heavy on the parenting thoughts lately, but bear with me once more.  I was so many things before I was a mother and I am still most of those things, but motherhood is still my newest title even almost two years in. 

Amelia is growing in so many ways; growing up, growing bigger, growing away from us even now, at almost two.  I struggle to foster independence in my toddler when I’m dreading the day when that independence will come to its true fruition.  It’s one of the biggest clichés of parenting; we raise them to leave us.  Of course, I’ve never understood that until truly facing it, how could any of us understand that before it’s our reality?

As all of my realizations seem to, this particular one came to me while I was putting Amelia down for the night.  It’s the time of day when she is the most willing to cuddle, the time when she is the stillest, the time when she wants me to hold her.  This time it was nothing profound, nothing life altering, just a realization that parenting is a series of jolts.  There is nothing smooth or easy about it.  Parenting is more than beautiful in it’s own unique way, but it undeniably shakes things up, daily if not hourly.

Sometimes, it’s the jolt when you think the baby is asleep.  You may have made too much noise as you stood to try to put them down in the crib or you may have sneezed right when they stopped crying or you may have thought they were asleep for thirty minutes when suddenly they start singing the ABCs or reciting all of their new favorite words.

Sometimes, it's the jolting sound of a cry, the cry that only you can differentiate.  When you know it's a serious cry, it cuts straight to the soul.  It's amazing to me that every parent seems to be able to recognize their child's cry and what it means.  I never knew the nuances of a child's cry, or even that there were nuances, until I heard hers.

Sometimes, it’s the jolt of a new skill.  Whether it’s the first time you changed a diaper without thinking too much or your kid mimicked something you said or you realized you’ve stopped counting how many words they know, it’s a jolt.  Time, and with it skills, growth and so much more, slips by more quickly than it’s possible to gauge when you’re watching a person develop every day.

Sometimes, it’s the jolt that today will never repeat itself.  This moment is this moment; it will never happen again.  Your baby will not be a baby for long.  My toddler is battling her way toward full-on childhood, no matter what I do.  It’s my job to ease the transition, to help her along the way, to foster those skills, that independence, the wonder of the world around her, the love in and around her.

Sometimes, it’s the jolt about yourself.  When you think about who you are, suddenly, parent is the first qualifier that comes to mind.  I don’t know when the transition happened, but it did. 

I could go on and on and on.  The jolts, the realizations, the changes, seem to come every day.  Parenting is never what you expect and honestly, that is part of what I love about it.  I don’t know what’s coming and that can make it hard to let go of the present.  This adventure is just that, an adventure.  An adventure that is un-slow-able and unstoppable, just as it is bumpy, unexpected and full of jolts. 

Not My Daughter...

A few weeks ago, I found myself in Amelia’s room in the middle of the night.  The actual middle of the night, the time when it feels like you’re the only one awake in the world.  This doesn’t happen much anymore, but on this particular night, I was rocking Amelia back to sleep.  It was a rarity in several ways, not least of which that I was completely at peace about being there, about rocking my toddler for a few more minutes.  It won’t last for much longer, even at those times.

            Anyway, the hum from her sound machine was not helping me to keep my eyes open.  I have this fear that if I close my eyes while I’m holding her and let myself drift off, I’ll either end up spending much more time than I intended in that glider or I might drop her.  That would completely counteract all of the effort being put into getting her back to sleep.  So, I did what any of us would do in that situation. I turned to Facebook.  It’s funny how at moments like this, the most innocuous of Facebook articles that have been posted, shared or liked jump out so much more than they do in the light of day.  I had no discrimination in that moment for what I was reading.  In between articles about whatever pop culture phenomenon had seventeen things I didn’t know about it, I clicked on a post from a friend of a friend of a friend.

            This particular mom shared her story about what she believed was a run-in with a sex trafficking operation in a grocery store.  She felt that they were targeting her toddler age daughter and warned other parents who might take their children shopping alone.  This mom went into detail about how this might happen and her fear in those moments, feeling like her daughter was even on their radar.  I will never know if her fears were true, if her assumptions about the people in that store were accurate or if the worst could have happened had any of the minute details been different.  In spite of all that uncertainty, that post got under my skin.  As any parent knows, losing your child, in whatever way it might happen, is a constant, under the surface fear. 

            My first reaction was to insist to myself that I would not let anything happen to Amelia.  I immediately began to think through how I would have reacted, what I would have done, how I would protect her, keep her safe.  Just like Nemo’s dad, Marlin, I blindly, but with good intentions, assured myself that I would never let anything happen to her.  I feel that that was the reaction I should have had.  Amelia has been put in my care; she is my daughter, and she will always be my priority.  That’s a good thing.

          The more I have thought and thought and though about this, though, I have come to a conclusion that I always knew and yet never felt quite so tangible.  It can’t just be “not my daughter” (to quote Molly Weasley).  I pray that it will never be my daughter and I will continue to do everything in my power to continue that reality.  However, we can’t let it be anyone’s daughter.  Or sister.  Or mother.  Or cousin.  Or friend.  Or niece.  Or acquaintance.  Dietrich Bonhoeffer said it best when he said, “Silence in the face of evil is itself evil: God will not hold us guiltless. Not to speak is to speak. Not to act is to act.”

            We will not improve our society or end the very real horrors of sex trafficking and other atrocities of our country and our world if we only look out for ourselves.  We are a global community and it’s time that we started acting like it.  We have been given an opportunity to change the world for the better, for good.  Wasting that chance is simply not an option.  I have an amazing daughter who will change the world; it’s my responsibility to show her how to change it in a good way.  What kind of role model or teacher would I be if I showed her, by word or action or vote, that building walls , figuratively or literally, between people is an answer?