Parenting
Updated: Aug. 20, 2015
Originally Published: Dec. 28, 2014
This morning, as we drove to school, my daughter said, “I think I want to try putting myself to bed tonight.”
“What do you mean?” I asked, puzzled. Since her birth, our bedtime ritual has been fairly consistent. Change into pajamas, settle into bed, sing our special song, turn on the sound machine, switch off the lights, and close the door.
Of course, some things have transformed. Diapers transitioned to pull-ups, and eventually to underwear, and she now goes to the bathroom by herself. She no longer needs assistance choosing or putting on her pajamas. Her gummy smile has evolved into one adorned with teeth that now need brushing—first by us, then by her.
Yet, certain elements of our routine have remained constant: pajamas, our special song, the sound machine, lights out, and the door closed.
“I think I want to do it by myself,” she reiterated. “I don’t think I need Daddy to sing Ah-Nay-Nu-Nu anymore.”
I felt a lump form in my throat.
She was referring to the cherished lullaby Scott sings to her every night. Each one of us had our own song—distinct yet equally meaningful to her. Scott’s song was a legacy from his mother, filled with love and tradition. Mine was one I created as a new mom trying to calm my crying baby on her very first day. It worked that night and has continued to do so.
“I’m six now,” she continued. “I’m a big kid, so I can do it myself.”
The lump in my throat sank into the pit of my stomach, heavy but manageable enough for me to respond without losing my composure. “Okay, honey.”
How is this possible? How can she be ready for this next step when she still refers to her beloved song as a verb? Tears welled up in my eyes, and I wanted to shout, to beg for just one more time. Just one more moment to sing to her.
This feels like those moments when you wish you had known that last kiss or embrace would be the final one. You want to tuck those memories into the special corners of your heart, savoring them forever. I wish I had known that would be our last time.
But I know that prioritizing my feelings would mean stunting her growth. She is preparing to walk on her own, unsteady yet ready.
“I think I want to try,” she had said, and I realized I had been anticipating this moment. I even thought I wanted it—the growing up, the changes, the independence. I had voiced my hopes for it to arrive soon, believing it would make life easier. One less task at night would help streamline our chaotic evenings.
Yet, it feels too soon. I’m undeniably unprepared. While it may ease my mind, it weighs heavily on my heart. Something significant is shifting, and it seems to be happening all at once, leaving me struggling to keep pace.
Her top tooth is loose, and that radiant, dimpled smile I’ve adored for what feels like my entire life is on the verge of change. This week, her six-year-old heart was hurt by an innocent comment from a friend—bringing tears and an angry outburst born from embarrassment. Watching her navigate these emotional waters is something I wasn’t prepared for. Growing pains, indeed.
And now this. Loose teeth and a tender heart make me want to hold her even tighter—just when she’s ready for us to loosen our grip.
I can sense something is ending. She’s expressing it herself. Perhaps one day she will need our special songs again. Maybe she’ll hum them to herself as she settles in for the night. Lights off. Close the door.
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Summary
In this reflective piece, Alex Parker shares the bittersweet experience of witnessing her daughter transition from a dependent child to an independent one. As nightly routines evolve, the emotional challenges of letting go become apparent. While change is a natural part of growing up, it leaves parents grappling with feelings of nostalgia and the need to hold on. This heartfelt narrative captures the essence of parenting, growth, and the inevitable changes that come with time.