Letting Go?

“Train children in the right way, and when old they will not stray.” Proverbs 22:6

There’s a commercial that gives warning on the consequences of drinking and driving that always makes me sad. It’s the one where a baby is lying in a crib, crying frantically, and then a message appears on screen that says that the baby’s mother was killed by a drunk driver.

It makes me sad because I know that it is the reality for many families out there. Not just the babies who have lost their parents to drunk driving, but to anything. I read it in the news every day. And now that I have one of my own, the sadness I feel is even more acute because I don’t even want to imagine Nathaniel ever losing his mommy or his daddy. The fear sometimes surfaces when I go to Nathaniel first thing in the morning and he greets me with sheer excitement, or when I tuck him in at night and there is a peacefulness and contentment in his face that brings tears to my eyes almost every night.

These thoughts come to me as I contemplate whether to take a course next semester in seminary. The decision sounds so simple—but as I think about being away from Nathaniel for more than just a few hours, I am overcome by worry and guilt.
When the pediatrician tells you that Separation Anxiety starts to kick in at about six months, I didn’t realize that this included the mother. I’ve only left Nathaniel for more than an hour on two occasions (once, to get a haircut, and the other, to attend a bridal shower). The whole time, my mind was focused on whether he felt abandoned by me or not. Of course, on both of those occasions, I returned to find him perfectly fine.

It’s not just when I leave him that I worry and feel guilty. It’s also when I go through a day that isn’t “typical.” I can finally say that Nathaniel has been trained to sleep (an amazing feat, considering it takes almost five to six weeks of training and great patience and faith!). In fact, he has been trained so well, that now, he protests for his nap time as soon as he begins to feel drowsy. The car seat, stroller, other people’s houses—all are no longer good enough: Nathaniel wants to be in his own crib when he wants to sleep. When he’s in the crib, he naps anywhere from one to three hours (when he’s not, the longest stretch he can do is a half hour).

Now imagine—a mother having trained a baby to sleep regularly, and then suddenly, irregular schedules come up from time to time—that takes the baby away from the regular schedule that he has grown comfortable with. My worry and guilt come in, because when I am unable to give him the schedule he needs, I feel like I am responsible for his discomfort and distress. Sometimes, having gone out with a friend or visiting a family member, or going shopping for too long (which I rarely do anymore), I feel so accountable for his tiredness that I even vow that I would stay home the very next day to make up for it.

I voiced my guilt to my sister once, who’s a mother of three kids, and she said plainly, “Don’t worry. You have the rest of your life to feel guilty about everything you do with the children.”

Believe it or not, her statement actually put me at ease—because I realized the truth in it.

On any given week now, I go out once or twice for more than few hours, but I limit myself to that. My priority is Nathaniel’s wellbeing—and, at this point, I am still unwilling to compromise such for my own needs.

My sister chuckles when she hears me talk about how much easier life is with Nathaniel now that he’s been sleep-trained. “I told you,” she says (since I had been unwilling at first to go through all that intense training—just read my previous blog entries!). Outsiders have asked me and my sister, “Don’t you feel that you’ve lost your freedom?” They are referring to our having to be home all the time in order to accommodate the kids’ sleep schedules. My sister and I understand each other’s amusement in response to their incredulity. With the kids sleep trained, we have MORE freedom. That freedom comes as a result of the time we have from being without the kids—to do household chores, to rest, to read, to converse with friends, to spend with the husband, to watch movies, to spend quiet time with God, to anything, really.

I’m getting side-tracked. My point is that perhaps I am not ready to let go yet. When I am away from Nathaniel, I become anxious about his happiness. I wonder whether his needs are being met. If he wakes up from his nap expecting to see me, and he doesn’t—will he be okay? If he wants to be held by mommy and mommy is not there—will he be okay? If he wants milk and has to take it from a bottle instead of in the comfort of mommy’s arms—will he be okay? If he wakes up in the middle of the night and cries for mommy and mommy is not there—will he be okay? If another person takes care of him, one who doesn’t know what makes Nathaniel happy, sad, scared, or excited—will Nathaniel be okay?

Whenever such questions come to mind, I sometimes ask myself, “What’s the worst that could happen?” Of course, the answer to that question could go very terribly depending on how far my imagination takes it. And when I finally calm down, whisper a prayer to God to ease my fears, I start to think—Nathaniel has to learn… Mommy has to learn.

Experiences like this allow me to empathize with my parents who were quite protective over us. I remember, in grade six and seven, being one of the few students who wasn’t allowed to go on overnight trips. I remember, all three of us, my sister, my brother, and I, not being allowed to choose a university that was out-of-town. My mom wanted us to be at home. I don’t regret decisions like these—because my going to a university in town gave me opportunities that I wouldn’t have had had I gone away. At the same time, I know that one day, God willing, when Nathaniel is that age, though I know I will be filled with worry when he’s not in my presence, I will have to let go. I will have to cast my cares upon the Lord and be sustained by Him.

I have a few weeks to pray about whether to enroll in that course in seminary. It’s amazing how a decision like this could catapult me into so much reflection. Dr. Dobson concludes his book Bringing Up Boys like this:

“… The door must be opened fully to the world outside. This can be the most frightening time of parenthood. The tendency is to retain control in order to keep your kids from making mistakes… The simple truth is that love demands freedom. They go hand in hand.

No matter how much you prepare, letting go is never easy… It’s an exhilarating and a terrifying moment, and one that was ordained from the day of your child’s birth. With this final release, your task as a parent is finished. The kite is free, and so, for the first time in twenty years, are you.

My prayers will be with you as you discharge your God-given responsibility. Cherish every moment of it. And hug your kids while you can.”

Nathaniel has awakened. Over the baby monitor, he’s babbling to himself again. Sniff sniff. Gonna go hold him tight now...