I often get flack from my oldest girls, saying I make things so easy on the youngest.
There are a lot of, “You NEVER would have said that to ME”s, and an equal amount of,
“You would have SO made me do that”s.
They don’t see as I see: That she is the most appreciative, and reciprocal one.
She is a giver as much as she’s a taker.
At 12 years old, not yet flushed with hormones, she is still only mildly problematic.
So, maybe I cook her things she could make herself.
Maybe I’m the one to scoop her ice cream, and rub her feet with lotion.
This youngest of mine came along to also be there for me.
She is often a balm to my heart on days it is aching.
I want to give to my oldest ones the same way, too, but for a few years they have been regularly rejecting it.
For example, in my Facebook memories just today popped a memory of me spontaneously hugging my 16 year old and having her respond, “I’m not sure I like your energy.”
I realized today why moms so easily baby their youngest child.
I realized it as I sat on the couch and directed Paige in how to make tuna salad.
Normally, I would just get up and do it for her.
She rather fancies a life where she always sits in what we call “Her Nest” at the corner of the sofa, being brought things, and watching YouTube;
But lately I’ve been pushing her to learn a few new things, even though it’s been harder to step forward into that habit than it was for any of her sisters.
I think it’s that, in order to work them into their new independence, you have to take steps to actively, permanently work yourself out of what has often been your most beloved job,
and (if you struggle with change like me) you just don’t really ever WANT to do it.
The ache of this step is amplified when you know it will be your last time.
You will close the door,
and on the back there will be a mirror:
A reflection of a version of you you don’t know what to do with.
She is the last one I still run Epsom Salt baths for.
She is the last one whose peanut butter and jellies I still sometimes cut in quarters.
Sometimes when she is asleep, I shine my phone light on her, just to memorize her soft cheeks, and closed eyelashes.
I just do not look at this Child of Lasts and think,
“You know, Maybe it’s time she learned to wash the dishes.”
I will do it all, anyway, though it is bittersweet.
I will teach her to dust properly, and, one day, change her own oil.
I do want her to have skills to care for herself in adulthood, after all.
It just hurts extra to nudge the last one towards the distance.
This phase is like wading through fast-setting cement.
I know now for myself that it’s true, what they say, that grandchildren really are the best of us.
I cherish that I get to have a baby back in the house, another pudgy fist with dimples for knuckles.
Grandchildren are just their own separate thing.
Your own mothering days are sacred, and cannot be changed by any newness.
The two are different.
Maybe I’m growing softer with each passing year.
Maybe I have realized what’s most important.
Experience has a way of helping us shake off the dirt to examine our own root system.
She is my last,
so I will hold her for a while.
I just smile at the teens and know they’ll say, “Ew. No. Feet are gross” If I ask if they want me to rub THEIR feet with lotion.
I know that so many moms look at their youngest and understand just what I mean.
Even plants grow best if you sing softly to them.
Mom Outnumbered
Hi! My name is Kerri Green; Wife to Justin, and mother to four highly entertaining daughters -Alena, Chloe, Tessa, and Paige. I am an artist, a writer, a daycare provider, a lover of people, a believer that there is humor and beauty in all things, and the author of Mom Outnumbered; a blog about real family life, and my observations of it. My goal is to make people laugh, to be there for them when they cry, and most importantly, to let them know that they are not at all alone in this up and down world. I live with my family in Sebastopol California, and I am opening the window into our life. So welcome! Come in. Sit down. Just please don’t mind the mysterious wet spots.
