Letting Go

He’s at this curious stage of development where he’s quite good at grabbing things—his range of reach is impressive—but unable to voluntarily let them go. He hoards Cheerios in his dimple-knuckled fists, but can’t do more than wave them around while drooling madly. Sometimes I pry his fists open later in the day and find stray Cheerios inside; more often he loosens his grip at random moments and I find them littering the floor.

It’s interesting how letting something go requires more advanced development than grabbing hold of something. It has to be learned; it doesn’t come naturally. Of course parenting requires learning this too. You have to let go of predictably sleeping through the night, of peeing or showering whenever you want. You let go of hobbies that used to define you—being a pianist, a writer. You let go of working, or socializing, or serving in ministry the way you used to.

At some level this all has to be processed, grieved over, and accepted, and it happens in different times and ways depending on one’s gender or personality. It took me a long time to understand that D needed to grieve over the loss of the life we had, when it was just the two of us. When we could spontaneously eat out, or travel, or go out for a movie. And it took me a while to realize that, despite being more of a homebody and wanting to be the one taking care of the kids, I needed to not let go of everything so much and keep regular time for myself—not as a mother, or wife, or doctor; just for me—or things would fall apart rather quickly. It took me a while not to feel guilty taking time for myself.

And of course parenting requires letting go of your kids themselves. Having two kids helps with this. The biggest thing I’ve learned since dee-dee came along is that you think you are controlling the way your kids turn out, but you’re not. We’re doing the same thing with him we did for her, but they are completely different. She slept through the night at this age; he does not. She ate anything; he doesn’t. She glared at strangers; he smiles so much people five rows down in the airplane were making faces.

And even she is unpredictable. Suddenly she’s sharing, or being polite, when I haven’t changed anything I did. She’s extremely particular, and extremely nurturing, when I don’t recall teaching her to be either. Just shows that you have to plug along, be consistent and pray a lot, and let go of some of the rest.

Sometimes when he’s fallen asleep in my arms, I look down at him and wonder, who will you be? What will you do with your life? Will you be just as stubborn? Will you stand for what matters? I hope every step in his life will be one made in safety, made in righteousness, and made for the kingdom, but I don’t know. Sometimes I hope he’ll stay this small with me forever. Sometimes I wish he could wipe his own butt and put himself to bed. I suppose we let go of wanting what we don’t have, of being able to control what happens, in order to really gain and enjoy what matters.