The Beautiful In-Between

I can remember being a kid and my mom letting me stay home alone for the very first time. My grandma lived across the field … yes, I said field … and we literally lived in the middle of nowhere. I thought I was basically an adult.

Then a bear showed up at our back door.

I called my grandma's house absolutely panicking. By the time anyone got home, the bear was gone, and I had decided staying home alone wasn't nearly as glamorous as I thought it was going to be.

Funny how growing up is full of moments like that. Someone trusts you with something new, and suddenly you realize... oh, this is a little harder than I thought.

Now I'm the mom.

And somewhere along the way, I blinked... and I have a teenager. That thought still scares me and thrills me all at the same time. My babies are no longer babies.

They don't need constant supervision anymore. They prefer makeup, reels, and reading in their own little hideouts alone. They don't really want to play babies and Barbies anymore. Dress up has slowly faded away... with the exception of the random neon green wig that somehow still makes an appearance every now and then.

Now it's...

"Mom, I just want to play my flute."

"Mom, I'm going to go perform a concert."

"Mom, I want to sit at my desk and sew something."

Very rarely is it, "Mom, will you read me one more story?" or, "Can we snuggle on the couch?"

Those moments still happen, and I treasure every single one of them, but they don't happen nearly as often as they used to.

Motherhood is constantly holding on and letting go at the exact same time.

Every season asks a different question.

Do I step in?

Do I teach?

Or do I step back and let them figure it out?

I don't want them to grow up any faster than they absolutely have to.

But I don't want to hold them back either.

Yesterday morning I was listening to my 13-year-old have an argument with her hair.

Yep... you read that right.

An argument.

She had gone to bed with beautifully brushed curls and woke up with what looked like a bird's nest.

Because of her sensory needs and where her cochlear implants sit, brushing her hair isn't always easy. I could hear her in the bathroom saying, "You were nice and brushed before I went to bed! Why are you so knotted right now?!"

I had to laugh.

I walked in, helped her work through the worst of the knots, and we grabbed her straightening brush. I explained that curly hair just loves to tangle while we sleep, but if she ever needed to, she could use her straightening brush to smooth everything back out.

A few years ago, I would have just brushed her hair for her.

Yesterday, I didn't do it for her. I showed her. I helped where she needed help. Then I handed the brush back.

That's motherhood now.

Less rescuing.

More equipping.

She's not a baby anymore. She's 13.

She loves high heels. She's absolutely gorgeous. She's funny, compassionate, and becoming more independent every single day.

My middle girl isn't a baby anymore either. She's ten going on twenty. She's convinced she rules the world and that everyone should listen to her and honestly, she's persuasive enough that sometimes they probably do. There isn’t a sport or activity that she hasn’t been able to master and master quickly. 

Even my baby isn't really a baby anymore. Just yesterday she sat next to me on the couch reading her Bible out loud to me.

Sometimes I wonder where the years went.

And then this weekend happened.

My oldest wanted to jump off the diving board at the pool.

For most kids, that's no big deal. But for her, there was one more step.

She needed to advocate for herself with the lifeguards.

As a deaf teenager with cochlear implants, those conversations don't always come naturally. Every part of me wanted to walk over, explain everything, answer the questions, and make it easier.

Instead...

I stayed close.

I let her speak.

I watched her ask the questions herself.

I watched her explain what she needed.

And then I watched her climb those stairs, walk to the end of the diving board, and jump.

I don't think she realized it, but I wasn't just watching her jump into the water. I was watching her step into confidence. I was watching her discover that she could do something hard all by herself.

Motherhood is this sacred in-between.

They're no longer little enough to need us for everything. But they're not quite grown enough to do everything on their own.

They still need us. Just differently.

They need us to be close enough to catch them if they fall, but far enough away that they learn they can stand on their own.

The truth is, we're not raising children. We're raising future adults.

Adults who know how to solve problems.

Adults who know how to advocate for themselves.

Adults who know how to cook, clean, love people well, and trust God.

That means sometimes we step in.

Sometimes we step back.

And every once in a while, we get the incredible privilege of watching them do something they couldn't do yesterday.

It's beautiful.

It's heartbreaking.

It's holy.

It's the beautiful in-between.

And maybe that's what motherhood has always been.

Not letting go all at once...

But releasing one tiny piece at a time, trusting that the God who loves them even more than I do is faithfully holding every piece I loosen.