"The more the children grew, the less they had seemed to resemble either parent -- they spoke differently, dressed differently, seemed foreign in every way, from the texture of their hair to the shapes of their feet and hands."
-from Unaccustomed Earth, Jhumpa Lahiri
Deston will be four in about a month. Four. The age the twins were when I started as their nanny. One year away from actual school. He was a baby when we moved to Brooklyn and now he's almost a full-blown kid.
When we walk down the street, his little hand fits so neatly in my own; I can't imagine it being any bigger than it is now. I've started asking him if he'll stay a little boy forever and never grow up. He tells me he has to grow up. He'll, of course, visit me everyday and "will still be [my] child." These promises help a little in the moment, but they don't banish this terrible foreboding I have about his aging.
As I was reflecting on this trouble I've been having, I realized that my experience with children ends at about the age of six. I was forced to deal with middle-schoolers for a few weeks during a JCC camp (after I specifically asked not to be assigned to that group, I might add). Beyond that, I haven't had much experience with the older kids. I'm not quite sure what I'll do with an older kid.
This is all a rather silly fear of the unknown, as I'm sure my great little kid will turn into a great big kid. His interests will develop, he'll continue to surprise and delight us with his observations on life, and parenting will march on as the adventure I've come to love. I will miss three-and-half-year old Deston, though. For all my belly-aching about how evil three-year-olds are, I've enjoyed this past year.
This morning Deston managed to use the big potty by himself (I only had to put the kid seat on for him). I think he's been capable of doing it on his own for some months. My own reticence to let go has kept me with him, monitoring his progress. I did this when he was a baby, letting him sleep next to me in the living room rather than putting him in his crib. My parental identity is changing as much as Deston. He'll need me less, or in different ways.
I've settled into the role of parent-to-a-young-kid. As this changes, it means different things for the other roles I play -- wife, publicist, friend, daughter. If I could know what was coming, would I choose to see into the future? I can certainly imagine my ideal scenario. Sometimes I try to imagine being old. What will I be like? What will I do? What will my marriage be like when Drew and I are in our 60s? I'm stymied. I do look forward to remembering this time in our lives. I have some memory of when I was Deston's age and I wonder what he'll remember. Family stories are valuable possessions, an enduring treasure.
1 comment:
A friend once told me that about a most helpful parenting "line" she had been told. It comes in handy when your child does something for the first time and you don't know how to react. She would say to her kids "well, you'll have to give me time to think about that. I've never been the mother of a (insert age here) year old before, so that's new to me." Not that it makes much difference to the child, regardless of their age, but it is a gentle reminder to ourselves that parenting is an ongoing learning process.
You're doing a great job, and I believe you can trust yourself to continue on that loving, positive path.
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