Is there room for Momma?

This big guy always finishes his dinner long before the rest of us.  Not one to sit still, he usually runs large toy cars around in a circle, making no small amount of noise.  I've tried various things to keep him at the table, such as asking him to practice flash cards, or color.  Too messy though, since the table is still full of dishes and food.

Tonight, I told him to go to the playroom and read a book.  Lo and behold, he did.  Gladly.  He went through the library books first thing, looking for this fairy-tale story book.

We could all hear him reading aloud to himself.

 I knew this day would come, when my children would just sit and read--not needing help with the words.  Although the boys have been reading for awhile, this is a new feeling for me.  I'm used to sitting right there with them, or near them, making sure they complete their assignment fully.

I can't quite describe this new feeling.  Not pride, so much.  More of a deep-down contentedness, coupled with a sadness that their wee childhood has passed away...never to return.

When a child sits alone with a book, he connects with the author, not with Momma or Daddy.  It's a very grown up pastime....a very independent thing.

He may or may not share with me what he's reading, or how it makes him feel.  When we read together in a chair, I know how he feels.  When the story is tender, he says to me, "I don't want to cry.  I don't."  Meanwhile, I'm already crying over the story.

He doesn't need me to sit with him anymore.  He never will again.  Shortly, he'll stop subvocalizing, and start reading silently, without even realizing it.

I need to blow him a kiss, and say "Have fun, Son, on your adventures."  (So long as I know something about what he's reading, of course.)

I must do this...this letting go.  But what I really want, is to say,

"Can I come along, Son?  Is there room for Momma?"

It's the same feeling with the nursing.  Baby Beth isn't always interested in a gratuitous afternoon nursing session.  She's not tired, and there are adventures outside of Momma's arms, waiting to be had.  And I want to say,

"Can I come along, Darling?  Is there room for Momma?"

As I sit here, crying through this post, I really don't know how to endure this.

Why is this so hard...this letting go?  It feels like the hardest thing I've ever had to do.

And I want to do it well.  Gracefully.  But I don't know if I can.  I'm usually pregnant by now, when the youngest is about fourteen months.

Dear Lord, thank you.  Thank you for these precious babies to love, to hold, to nurture.  I can't solve all their problems, or cushion all their falls, or smooth out all their faults.  But I can point them to you.  Help me to do that.  Help me to show them how to live in continuous connection with you.  And please fill this void in my heart, created by their growing independence.  Only you can fill it. I know that.  In your name, Amen.