Brave and Tender Soul

I could write post after post after post about parenting. My parenting, that is, or these girls, or the million different thoughts or doubts I have each and every day about almost every single decision I make (or neglect to make, as the case may be).

Twice in the past week my heart has literally ached over Hanna's absolute (and resolute) bravery.

Last week Hannah had her 5 year well-child exam and I knew that she was due for shots. I decided not to mention the shots until the morning of the appointment. She knew she had an appointment, though, and out of the blue, the night before, she asked me how many shots she was going to get. (That girl's memory is AMAZING! Last year the nurse mentioned that Hannah was caught up on shots until she turned 5 and I'm sure that is where the shot question came from. Seriously, I could give you example after example of her long-term memory. Short-term, on the other hand....) I honestly told her that I didn't know. I hoped only one, but maybe two?

At that point I figured the gig was up. I tried to be optimistic but I was fully expecting to have to physically drag her, screaming, to the doctor, sit in reception while she melted in my lap, and wrestle her down for shots. It wasn't some unknown fear we were facing here- it hasn't been that long since she's seen Sarah get shots. Fortunately Katie was able to come play with Sarah the next day during Hannah's appointment (I think her last trip to the doctor and three shots were VERY fresh in Sarah's mind and she was VERY happy to stay as far away from there as possible!) which allowed me to be fully available for Hannah. On the way to the doctor she told me that she thought that getting some ice cream afterward might help her feel better (what is she, a mind reader? Or do four-year olds have some kind of secret training for this stuff??) and that was an easy agreement to make.

We went. She was weighed and measured (43 pounds and 42.5 inches tall), all her vitals were checked, Dr. P came in and looked and listened to all the normal stuff and then the nurse came back and told us Hannah was due for 4 shots- wow! Didn't see that coming... But she did it. She sat on my lap and watched Brenda clean her thighs and she watched as shots 1 & 2 went in the right leg, took a deep breath as Brenda went to get shots 3 & 4 for her left leg. Watched those go in and the band-aids go on.

Then she looked at me and her little eyes were so bright with tears, her cheeks were pink and I said, "Hannah, it's ok to cry if you need to." I think one or two little tears escaped and that was it. Even the nurse (who has been our nurse since before Hannah's birth) commented on how remarkably brace she had been.

Then we celebrated at Baskin and Robbins where Hannah discovered bubble gum flavored ice cream... (Which, surprisingly, is a flavor of ice cream that I can totally live without. Blech.)

On Tuesday the father of one of Hannah's classmates brought in some mounted "specimens" of bugs to help kick-off the new theme "Gardening." What we first heard was that he had brought in a tarantula (which we've seen at one of the local pet stores) and when Hannah looked up at me and said, "Let's go look at it Mom!" I was pretty blown away. Unfortunately when we got over there it wasn't one live tarantula it was a couple of small display cases with about 40 preserved bugs (butterflies, beetles, a tarantula, etc) and I was quick to point out to her that they were no longer alive. Suddenly she lost it- she was completely melting, head tucked into my neck, sobbing, clinging... I was bent down with Sarah on my hip (ready to leave, of course) trying to maintain my balance. Of course I tried to talk her through it- yes, it was about the bugs although she couldn't (and still won't) tell me exactly what the issue about the bugs was.

Soon the bugs disappeared and Hannah's teacher gave us a little book to read together (http://www.amazon.com/Things-Scary-Florence-Parry-Heide/dp/0763612227) about all different kinds of scary things (good-scary, exciting-scary, scary-scary). Hannah brought it down a few notches while we were reading and after the book, when they played the clean-up music that signals the beginning of Circle Time, she took a deep breath, looked up at me and said, "I'm ready for you to go now Mom." Oh my. There were still tears in her eyes. I think I even asked her, "Are you sure??" because I was so wholly unprepared for that. But yes, she was sure. She knew what was going to happen next, she was ready to welcome the day with her school-mates, she didn't need me there. I gave her a kiss, I turned around to walk out and I looked back- her face was bright from crying and she clutched a kleenex in her hand, but she wasn't even concerned about me walking away.

Oh this girl of mine. Oh my heart. You know, of course, that this child who has taught me so much of parenting, of stopping, listening, and being patient, this girl still wakes up in the morning and goes to sleep at night needing to touch me. She still has moments where she is so clingy that I absolutely wish I could just shrink out of her grasp (am I horrible for feeling that way? For writing it ?) and then there are moments like these. This push and pull, I imagine, is just a constant now and in the future. Needing me close, seeking her independence, making her own decisions, wanting advice or approval. Just another reminder, I suppose, to slow down and treasure these days- while I am still her closest confidant, her trust in me is 100%, her heart and arms are open. Now is not the shrinking time, it is time to step forward, arms open, and embrace her, all of her.