I Worry.

I have 5 kids. Yes like 1,2,3,4,5, like an entire hand, a quintuple, cinque, FIVE! And yes I do know what causes that. Love. Wonderment. Joy. Celebration of life. I love my kids and would in a heartbeat have more if circumstances were right. I enjoyed being pregnant, watching my body swell with the yet unknown being inside. Feeling their little jabs and pokes at the outside world, as if to announce, Hello out there, do you see me? Hearing the steady whoosh whoosh of their little heartbeat at each doctors visit, an affirmation of their reality. The act of giving birth was amazing. That first peek at the person you and your husband have created and been trusted to raise by a power much greater than yourselves. The little whiff of heaven all babies have at birth. Their soft heads, their sweet breath, the cherubic layers of fat and delicacy of their bodies. The absolute wonder of all they know-to close their eyes, take in breaths, root for food. It was miraculous to see my babies fatten up at my breast, see them grow and learn and become more independent. Sitting up, Crawling, their first foods, first steps, first words. That bittersweet moment when your baby realizes there are other people in the world and moves away from you more and more each day, farther away from the protective environment you have provided for them to grow in.
They aren't babies anymore. It is a necessary step, even honorable, the letting go of your child and entrusting them to the world. The being there when a swing lets them fall, when a knee is scuffed, a friend is mean, a heart is hurt. The restraint demonstrated when I do not swoop in to clear all the hornets from the nests my children encounter. That I walk away from them at school and expose them to all sorts of lessons in life. The fact that they may try out for a group and not make it. That they may take a test and not excel. That they may get hurt and not get a hug and kiss to make it all better. That some kids may make fun of their hair, clothes, or athletic prowess. And some teachers may not see them for the extraordinary beings they are. It breaks my heart each time one of them is hurt, but I need to be brave, shrug and say well lets accept this as a bump in the road God has laid for your life.
Their next firsts . . . middle school, dating, dances, breaking up, friends moving away, family drifting apart, driving, college. . . strike fear deep in my bones. Are they ready? Is the foundation we have laid for them so far strong enough to resist the temptations ahead? drugs? sex? booze? Will they be proud of their intelligence and not afraid to excel in honors courses or will they fall to a group of underachievers and slack their way through school? Are they confident in the abilities and able to be who they are whether it is cool to be in a band or sing or wrestle or read? Can they withstand the loss of loved ones-first boy/girlfriends-aunts and uncles as they move away-friends? Do they have the inner strength to move beyond a disappointment to the lesson it seeks to teach? Will they still laugh at the silly jokes their Dad makes. Might they still smile at me in that special way that lets me know they are happy to be with me? Can we still dance in our underpants? Not take ourselves too seriously, let loose and have fun? Do they outgrow the desire to hang out with one another? Is it a move from us being a boisterous family of 7 to a group of people who live together and speak seldom? How soon until their homework is too hard for me to help with? How soon until they are embarrassed by our lack of funds? Will they ever realize the abundance of love that exists for them in my heart, in our home? Am I one of the lucky ones who remains close to her children through the teen years? How can I assure I am the one they come to with questions about birth control? How do I assure that I am open to answering their questions and continuing a home that is open and honest and a place they like to be?
For now I have one at home. One left to go nap with. One left to swing high and read loud. One left who is so beside herself to be like her older siblings she is moving away faster than I care to think. For now I am going to go laugh with her. And later we will get those siblings she so aspires to be like. We will practice the trumpet, read the stories, work the math problems. We will talk about school, about our friends, about what we ate for lunch. For now I will enjoy every frustrating, fulfilling, ordinary moment I have. For what the future holds, I will worry.