“Mama, I’m ready!” Though she could not verbalize the words yet, the giggle she gave me was letting me know she was ready. Day after day, she would try harder and harder. She would lift her head, then her shoulders. She would crunch her belly so well that any fitness guru would be proud. Then, around five months, it happened. She was finally sitting up all by herself. I could see the happiness in her eyes each time she did it. She was so proud of herself, and I was too. I held her tiny fingers and said, “Yay, my baby girl, you did it!”
“Mama, I’m ready!” She still could not verbalize the words yet, but the squeal she let out at her first steps told me she was more than ready. I will never forget that day. We were watching a Florida State football game. I could tell she wanted to do it. She tried to take those steps. She tried to propel her little legs forward and walk. The look of determination on her face told me she would not quit until she did it. Daddy said, “Come on, you can do it!” I chimed in, “Come on baby girl! Come on, Gianna, you can do it!” With that, she put one little foot in front of the other and took about six steps. She squealed with delight. I picked her up in my arms, giving her a hug and exclaiming with tears in my eyes, “You did it, you did it!” She was about 9 months old, and nothing would stop her now.
“Mama, I’m ready!” She verbalized it this time. She just did not “tell” me, she TOLD ME. She clearly and confidently let me know that she was ready. She wrapped her arms around my neck. I carried her up. She hugged me and said, “Mama, I love you, but I am going to school now.” She was three, nearly four, and heading into preschool. I remember how “ready” she was for school. She wore a grey tee that she picked out herself. It had a heart on it with different colors. She wore it with pink shorts, and her hair was styled in a half-up ponytail. She had her Snow White lunchbox, and she wore her favorite pink boots.
On her first day of preschool, I walked with her to class. She held my hand down the hallway until we reached her classroom. We walked into her classroom, and she quickly let go of my hand. She went off to play, meet other kids, and explore her new world. I went back to my mini-van and cried. My tears were a mix of joy, fear, and sadness.
I was thrilled that she was making new friends and not afraid of school. That was the joy.
I was sad that I was losing her to time and that there was nothing I could do to slow time down.
The fear was wondering if she would be OK. As mothers, we want to protect our children. It is our first instinct. Leaving her at school that day, I remember thinking, “What if something happens to her, and I’m not there to protect her?”
I cried and cried and cried some more. On the drive home, I was flipping through the radio channels when suddenly, 38 Special blared through the speaker. Hold on Loosely started playing:
Just hold on loosely
But don’t let go
If you cling too tightly
You’re gonna lose control.
A special dance begins between you and your child when they start school. It is the beginning of your child taking a step forward and you having to sit back. It is truly the balance between holding on loosely, but not letting go entirely. It is realizing that you cannot protect them from everything, and you have to let things happen “to” them.
Life began to happen “to” her soon after that. A friend said a mean thing. Someone did not want to play. She fell. She did not feel well. Ah yes, soon the days of things happening “to” her rolled into what we call “routine.” The school year came and went, and Pre-Kindergarten soon began.
At the start of this school year, she once again told me, “Mama, I’m ready!” I cried on her first day of Pre-K. Not as much as the year before, but I cried. I cried mainly because once again, it was at that moment that I realized how fast time was going. It is always in these moments that we stop to understand how quickly life happens while we are “busy.”
Time has now taken us to the end of another school year. My little girl has grown so much academically. She is writing her name, spelling words, and beginning to read. These are all wonderful, and I love to see that she genuinely enjoys learning new skills.
What I am even more proud of, however, is that she is kind to everyone. She encourages others and tells them with a high five or fist pump, “Good job!” She has been called a leader, but she is learning that the best leaders lead by their example.
She declares herself, “A child of God.” I am most proud that she is learning that her worth is not given to her by any “person,” but by a heavenly creator that made her unique and called her to a higher purpose.
My baby girl is no longer a pre-schooler. She is officially a kindergartner. She will be at a “big kid” school. She will eat lunch in a large cafeteria. She will need an excuse note from the front office if she arrives late to class. She will be tested according to a “state” standard. Life will begin to happen “to” her at a faster pace than ever before. She already told me, “Mama, I’m ready for kindergarten!”
What can a mama do? Nothing, absolutely nothing except, say a little prayer and “Hold on loosely, but don’t let go.”
