letting go, holding on

It's not that I love her less, or that I have less concern for her safety. It's just that I trust she'll be okay.

When Maya was born I would rarely let anyone else hold her. I wouldn't leave the room without her. As a newborn she was always within reach. Josh and I look back and realize that too often we were even reluctant to have him watch her unless I really wasn't available. What a shame. It all turned out well, though, and we've got a nicely independent but connected and attached little almost-six year old.

Now with Althea, she can hang out with my parents or, of course, Josh, and it doesn't phase me at all. I know they'll bring her to me if she needs to nurse. I realize the only real difference between me and them as a caregiver is these milkers. And, sure, she needs to be with me (nursing) about every 2-4 hours without fail. But, in the between times, any responsible adult in our family has the skills needed to make sure she's cared for.

I write about this because I do have a twinge of guilt about this freedom and I need to shake it. Taking a shower while Althea's sleeping on the king sized bed and Josh has an ear out for her seems luxurious compared with the tether I kept myself on with Maya. The tiny twinge simply squeaks out at me, "Do you not care as much?" I tell it to settle down, remind myself Maya would have been fine, too. I was just a new mother then and only trusted myself (with Josh coming in a not-close-enough second). Just because I already see Althea growing up as a child more adjusted to non-Mother caregivers as acceptable alternatives doesn't mean I care less. I just trust a whole lot more.


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