This morning, as we made our way to school, my daughter announced, “I think I want to try putting myself to bed tonight.”
“What do you mean?” I inquired, perplexed. Since her birth, our bedtime routine had been a consistent ritual: pajamas on, tucked in, a cherished song sung, sound machine activated, lights off, and door closed.
Of course, there have been changes over the years. Diapers transitioned to pull-ups, and then to big-kid underwear, allowing her to navigate the bathroom independently. She no longer needs assistance in choosing or putting on her pajamas. Her once gummy smile has given way to teeth that require brushing—first by us, and now by her own capable hands.
Yet, some elements have remained constant: pajamas, the special song, the sound machine, lights out, and the door closing.
“I think I want to do it by myself,” she reiterated. “I don’t think I need Daddy to sing the Ah-Nay-Nu-Nu anymore.”
In that moment, a lump formed in my throat. She was referring to the beloved song Scott sings to her each night, a family tradition passed down from his mother. My own song, crafted in a moment of desperation as a new mother, had comforted her since her very first night in my arms.
“But I’m six now,” she continued. “I’m a big kid, so I can do it myself.”
The lump in my throat sank into my stomach, a heavy weight. How could she be ready to sleep solo while still using a verb to describe her beloved song? Tears welled in my eyes as I resisted the urge to beg her for just one more night of lullabies.
This feeling is reminiscent of those moments when one wishes they had known the last goodbye was truly final—those last kisses, embraces, and words that could have been cherished more deeply if only they had known.
Yet, to voice my needs would mean prioritizing my emotions over hers. I would be stunting her growth at a time when she is just beginning to find her footing. “I think I want to try,” she had said, and perhaps I had been anticipating this moment all along.
Growing up and gaining independence were things I had longed for, thinking they would make life easier. Yet, this felt premature. I was not prepared for this shift. It may ease my routine, but it weighs heavily on my heart.
Her top tooth is now wiggly, signaling yet another change, while her innocent heart recently faced pain from a friend’s careless comment—an experience that crushed her spirit, revealing the vulnerable side she hides behind emotional walls. Watching her endure such hurt was unexpectedly painful for me; these growing pains are all too real.
Now, with wiggly teeth and a bruised heart, I want nothing more than to hold her close when she is ready to break free. Something significant is ending, and I can sense it deeply. She is telling me as much.
Perhaps there will come a day when she seeks out our special songs again, humming them softly as she settles in for sleep—lights off, door closed.
For additional insights into the world of family planning, consider exploring resources on fertility and home insemination. The Cleveland Clinic offers excellent information on intrauterine insemination, and for those curious about boosting fertility, Make A Mom provides valuable tips. If you’re interested in practical tools for home insemination, check out their at-home intracervical insemination syringe kit.
Summary:
This piece reflects on the profound emotional shifts in parenting as children grow more independent, emphasizing the bittersweet nature of letting go of cherished routines. It highlights the struggles of balancing a child’s desire for autonomy with a parent’s instinct to protect and hold on.
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