I don’t care how old my kids get, they will always know how to wrap me around their little finger.
The girls have been at their grandfather’s since last night and already I have had two hysterical phone calls from the 6 year old screaming how she wants to come home. On one hand I’m ticked off that she can’t manage to get through a night without me. On the other hand, I’m ready to grab my keys and run out the door to go pick her up.
I HATE when my girls are upset. It kills me inside. I’m at that awkward stage of parenthood, walking that fine line between wanting them to be independent and not need you for every little thing, and wanting them to still need you. I feel lost. I’m not sure how to handle not being needed. I spent so much time wishing they would just grow up already. Now they are and I’m wishing they would just stay small.
I can’t pick them up anymore.
I can’t dress them anymore.
I can’t bathe them anymore.
They do all these things on their own. Without me. They pick out their own clothes. They have their own friends. Every other phone call we get is for a child. They are starting to have lives that are separate from me.
I spent the entire day alone yesterday. It was great. I ran around all day doing the things that I could never do with three kids in tow. I missed them terribly. I’m not sure what switch goes on in a mother’s head where the minute we get some peace and quiet, we suddenly need noise and chaos.
The kids are coming home today. I’m pretty sure I’ll be giving them big hugs and kisses and 5 minutes later I’ll wish I was alone again.
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