chickenfickle

A friend of mine sent me an article about what it’s like when your kids get their drivers licenses. My kids are too young for that but I can still relate. The Girl no longer has training wheels.

It started out with one of those little plastic push around things. She’d get it and stand behind it and walk. Then she got a little tricycle and then her first bike with training wheels. She’d put her little helmet on and I’d walk next to her. Such a big girl, riding her bike. How cute. But then, she grew too tall for the princess bike and we had to get her a bigger one and those don’t have training wheels. Either she learned to ride or she was going to have to walk everywhere.

We started out in the grass. I would take her to the field down the block and stand next to her. I would balance the bike and run next to her and let go. She’d ride until she fell down. We did this over and over. I cheered her on until she was ready for the sidewalk. It’s easier to ride on the sidewalk but scarier. And stopping and starting is tough, too, but now, well, she puts her helmet on and away she goes. We did the same thing with her rollerblades. We practiced in the basement on the carpet until she was confident enough to go outside. Last night she was blading up and down the block, a seasoned pro. And now, she’s no longer happy to just go to the corner. Oh no, Big Girl wants to go around the block. Without me.

So, what’s the big deal? Don’t all kids learn to ride a bike? Yes, I suppose they do, but, well, it sucks, frankly. She used to need me for everything. Now, that stupid bike is just one more step closer to her moving out into her own apartment. I’m not interested in this growing up thing. No.

Yet, she’s still my baby. I took her to her first concert last week, Taylor Swift. We had dinner together and then went to the show. She stood there, nervous at first, then started to dance a little and sing along to the songs she knew. I looked at her at one point with her arms in the air and, I tell you, it’s a good thing it was dark so no one could see me cry. And I know I wasn’t the only one. There was a mom in front of me with two girls around The Girl’s age and she kept looking at them and touching their hair or shoulders and I know that the girls she saw were two or three years old. Next to us, there was a dad with a little girl who really was only about three and she sat on his lap the whole time. She had a seat, but he didn’t put her down once. He was holding his newborn daughter.

About half-way through, The Girl sat down. She told me was a little tired and wanted to rest. I asked if she wanted to leave but she said, no, just take a little break. We ended up sitting for the rest of the concert, with her head on my shoulder, drifting in and out of sleep. She was too tired to stand up but still refused to leave. When it was over we found our car and she was asleep before we even made it out of the parking lot. We got home and Daddy carried her up to bed.

Monday, she starts second grade. And my middle son starts kindergarten. When did they grow up? I look at them and I see the babies I brought home from the hospital seven and five years ago. I see the babies I potty trained. I see the babies that I taught to ride bikes. I don’t think I won’t ever see them as babies no matter how big they get. They’ll be walking down the aisle at their weddings and I’ll see babies crawling.

I read somewhere that your kids are still babies if they sleep with their butts in the air. THAT BABY still sleeps like that. I go to check on everyone before I go to sleep and he’s like that, tushy in the air. Eventually, he’ll be in a toddler bed, then a regular bed and he won’t sleep like that anymore. Once in a while, the other two sleep like that, more curled up than usual, and I have a little flashback to when they really were babies.

The Girl and I went shopping for clothes a few weeks back. I can’t bring myself to buy her some of what is out there but we were able to find some stuff. When it came time for shoes, she picked out a pair of ballet flats with jewels on the toe. Then she surprised me by picking out a pair of Maryjanes, black with criss-cross straps, just like what she wore when she was younger. I had seen them and didn’t bother to show her because I thought for sure she wouldn’t like them. But she found them on her own. As we walked out of the shoe department, she held my hand and skipped and I carried her bag of training wheels.