Full Circle...Almost

She said:  "Mom, I want to go to the football game tonight with my friends."  The first Friday after Labor Day, first home game for the high school, and my 8th grade Munchkin is already trying out her newly grown flight feathers.

There was maybe a 30 second pause before my answer:  "Sure, baby, if you can find a ride to and from."

You know that old cliche about how your life flashes before your eyes in the seconds before you die?  It was like that, only in those 30 seconds it was her life that flashed before my eyes.

Sure, it was the memories of her first steps, and her "Yagon Tails shoes."  The diapers and the Gymboree classes, the Barbies and the Webkinz.  The sloppy kisses and finding random things in random places, like the toothbrush in the VCR, and the coins in the face plate of my car stereo.  Her first word (mama) and her first belly laugh.  Her first day of school (when I had to call in late and go cry on a friend's shoulder.)  First tooth, first haircut...so many firsts.  The first time (note I say "first"...sigh) she smeared her baby sister from neck to nape with Desitin ointment.  And the Moon, Sun, and Star of construction paper she and the Zookeeper taped to the ceiling in the living room ten years ago. (And yes they are still there, the color of the paper leached to grey.  Every time I try to take them down I have a mutiny on my hands...)

Those memories, though, are always there, so it does not take 30 seconds to process them.

My pause instead is born of guilt.  That friend I mentioned?  The one who's shoulder I cried on?  She was a very wise lady.  She told me:  "When you go to the hospital to give birth, the doctor packs your uterus full of guilt after the baby is born.  It's going to be there forever."  No, Susie wasn't simple, she was being silly to make me laugh, while at the same time pressing home to me that as mothers no matter what we do, what choices we make, we will always end up worrying and feeling guilty over them.

I rushed her into a toddler bed at 18 months, because when she was 9 months her baby sister let us know of her <surprise!> impending arrival and I needed the crib.

The plan was that the Zookeeper would be networking sales guy forever, but that changed and so when she was three Daddy took over most of the Mom stuff so I could work full time...and by full time I mean in retail, understaffed...I saw other people's kids more often than I saw my own.  There were "family dinners" in the back room so the girls could "visit Mommy."

You know how when they are born you are intimately aware of every detail about them and their lives?  You know their breathing patterns and their bowel habits, you know their favorite color and food and that they can't stand to have their pants pulled up to their waist and so push them down on their hips.  You know their dreams and fears, and for the most part you can fix anything and everything with a kiss and a bubble bath.  You know these things because you are there with them...except sometimes you start to lose out.  You start to lose out when they go to school, and have a life completely apart from you.  And you really start to lose out if you are always working when they are awake.

It was nannies and grandmother, teachers and for a time a daycare she truly hated.  It was me missing her school activities, and not being there to help her with her homework.  How much was I missing?  How many more bedtime stories could there have been?  How many more chances to know this child that I had been blessed with?

I got her back, as for two years the Zookeeper did well enough, even during a recession, that I could stay home with our girls.  Then he founded a nonprofit and suddenly I had to go back to work...leading to more guilt.

She was responsible for chores, and getting herself to school, and making sure her assignments were done on time.  Responsible for watching her two younger sisters.  Responsible for learning her own lines for the school play.  Responsible for doing a lot of things that, in a perfect world, I would have at least liked to be there to oversee.

While I was busy working, my baby grew up.

I never wanted to be a helicopter mom, I always believed that children ought to be allowed to do things and take risks.  I let her walk to school in the third grade, even though I got the evil eye from some of the other Moms.  (I mean seriously?  The school is 1/2 mile, straight shot, at the other end of the street we live on.) If they don't get to spread their wings a bit, and learn, then they can never stand on their own.  Or so I told myself, since I wasn't here and couldn't do much about it.  Responsible is good, right?

But still...the guilt.  I'm not the Mom I envisioned I would be.  Does that make her sad?  Angry?  Scared?  Am I doing enough?  In the end, is she happy?  Will she be happy?

She said:  "Mom, I want to go to the football game tonight with my friends."

Full circle, because I went to the same football games on Friday nights all through high school with my friends, at the same football field.  The out of sight places under the bleachers and behind the gym.  The kids on the track swapping cigarettes and other things.  I know that she isn't going to watch the game, and I know what goes on.  I also know that I made the right choices back then.  Will she?

My answer, after my 30 second hesitation:  "Sure, baby, if you can find a ride to and from."

She curled her hair and put on her Aero varsity jacket, the one we bought at the mall last weekend.  She made her arrangements, and got her babysitting money to pay for her ticket in.  When did she go from me nagging her to take a shower to this young lady?  When did urging responsible, often with tears on both parts, actually become responsible?  Is she really ready for this?  Where the hell did all the time in between go?  Damnit, I want more time!

Her friend's parents came to pick her up.

Friend's Mom:  "The only reason we said she could go is because we knew Munchkin would be there.  Of all her friends, Munchkin is the one who is always responsible.  We know she'll keep our X out of trouble."

So maybe, just maybe, I got something right?

When she was really little, we played a game.

Me:  "Who loves you?"

Munchkin: "Mommy Does!"

Letting go is hard, especially when it happens little bit by little bit.  So many moments I'd love to have back, do over, or live in forever.  You only get one shot at this whole motherhood deal, and through all of you you are crossing your fingers and...winging it.  Hoping that you get it right in the end.

She is testing her flight feathers.  And I think she's going to do just fine.