Lately I've been feeling contemplative. I have sensed a difference in the direction my blog posts have taken recently. I've noticed that it works like that for me. Instead of daily mood changes, I go in spurts that can last months. When Twilight hit theaters last fall, it was almost impossible to blog about anything that wasn't Twilight-related. Then, last summer, when Bill was working and I was alone at night I was very dark and depressing and it was hard to do fun, happy posts. Anyway, my point is, lately I've been contemplative. Things seem to be happening in my life that put me in a state of awe and wonder and I can't seem to stop thinking about life in general and how it is constantly changing. I know....deep.
So, my baby girl recently turned eight, the age of accountability. I'm about to turn thirty, as I mentioned yesterday, the age of the "grown-ups." Payson is almost six, which is like, a kid. Where did my baby go?
It's like the Perfect Storm. With these three milestone ages all hitting around the same time, suddenly we're dealing with very grown-up things and I feel like I've wandered unknowingly into another dimension. First came this conversation last week. Then, yesterday, two conversations took place that rocked my world. First, that same little curious boy asked me how his newest baby cousin "came out." Although I had little hope that I'd get away with it, I answered that "the doctor took it out." But my almost six year old has reached the age where vague, non-answers aren't cutting it, and he needed to know not only exactly how the doctor took it out, but where it came out of. After his questions last week, and now grilling me about this, I knew it was time for real answers, although I never would have guessed in a million years I'd be having this conversation with my five year old boy, before my 8 year old girl. But he is asking a lot more questions than she is. So...I had to tell him, and believe me, hearing the words come out of my own mouth was very, very strange. But the look on his face was priceless.
Then, Macy came home from school and asked the second worst question for a parent to hear: "Is Santa Clause really real?" Boy, was I not expecting that one. She said that a lot of kids at school don't think he's real and she just really wanted to know the real truth. That last part got me. I knew I had to tell her. I can never deny my children the truth if they genuinely ask for it. If I thought she was asking with the hopes of being told what she wanted to hear, I might have tried to keep it going, but the way she worded it, I knew she wanted the truth, even if it hurt her. There were littler ears around at the time so I told her we'd talk about it later (which probably could have been her first clue to the answer she would get, but I guess an 8 year old doesn't pick up on things like that). She asked twice more after that, more proof she was ready to know the truth. When I put her to bed, she asked again, and I called her dad in (she may have started to suspect at this point) and told him she wanted the truth, and he gave me the signal that he agreed she deserved it, so we told her. She laughed. Laughed. I have dreaded this moment her whole life, not because I would be robbed of that magic at Christmastime but that she would be broken-hearted and feel betrayed and question her trust in us. And when the time came, she laughed. "It makes me laugh to think that people still believe it when it's not true," she said. Uh....like you, 30 seconds ago? But I was sooooo relieved and proceeded to tell her about the Tooth Fairy and Easter Bunny as well. She laughed some more, especially at the thought of me and Daddy tiptoeing into her room at night and trying to wedge our hands under her pillow. I could tell she felt very grown up at knowing the "secret" and excited to help keep it for her little brother. It was actually a very bonding moment between us.
Soon (very soon, I am guessing) I'll be buying her her first bra and actually having to explain what the "special hug" is. (Which, btw, is a complete joke, we don't really call it that.) And having to tell Payson that there are nicer ways to show a girl you like her than by punching her. It's all just happening so fast. Too fast. It's so true what they say about raising kids: Don't blink, or you'll miss it.
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