{Mom in a Big Brave World}

In a few short days, my daughter will embark on her journey to pre-school. As a mom, this is definitely a bitter-sweet moment for me. Yes, she's been going to daycare since she was 8 weeks-old, but I was always fortunate enough to have daycare at my school. So, C was never more than 500ft from me. This year, I'm dropping her off at a strange and foreign place with people that I don't know beyond their highlighted names on her class list. And, I would be completely lying if I told you that this didn't terrify me.  Completely.  Utterly. To. My. Very. Core. 

There are very few moments in life that completely define themselves, and I am staring one of them in the eye: in a few short days, my daughter will be a pre-schooler. There's no going back. First she goes to pre-school, next thing you know we're fighting with each other in a Bed Bath & Beyond over which shower caddy she should purchase for college. I saw this moment coming. It's been hanging over me like a little cloud all summer. We've talked about all the fun things she'll do at her new school. We've even read some books about going to school. So, C is pretty excited about going to pre-school. I, on the other hand, have my reservations and feel like I am sitting on the precipice of a nervous breakdown/ early-onset midlife crisis.

I am going to summon every morsel of courage, put on my game face, and pretend that I am absolutely thrilled that she is going to be spending the majority of her day out of my line-of-sight. Out of my arms. Out of my control. I am determined that she will not see me cry. Like every other mother, I will hold it in as best I can until I am in the car, and then, only then, will I openly weep like a baby.

Soon to be hysterics aside, I am as well prepared for this event as one can be because my daughter has taught me to be brave. As a "girl mom", much emphasis has been placed on "raising a strong daughter." It took me this summer to realize, that C has been raising a strong mom.

Just by coming into this world, C kicked one of my biggest fears: Childbirth. I remember that moment I learned how babies get out of you. I also remember my Early Childhood Development class in high school, and the graphic video that accompanied it. This was the best form of birth control ever.
 
So I got to thinking of the gauntlet of "bravery challenges" my daughter presented me with this summer . Each one of these items is something my daughter is never allowed to know I am terrified of. Instead, I have been putting on my best game face, smiling, and pretending to be very excited at each of these challenges.  Here they are, in no order of preference:

Bugs. I am not a fan of bugs. They are creepy. They are crawly. They bite. They sting. Let's not even get me started on how I feel about bees.

Then there was the moment when C picked up one of those bugs with the millions of legs out of the bath drain, and emphatically said, "Look Mama, buggy!" and demanded that we go set him free.

You try telling your sweet, innocent toddler that not only are bugs gross, but she completely squished the life out of that thing when she pressed him between her chubby little fingers.

No, you suppress the urge to shriek, and decide this is not the moment to explain the concept of "Wow. That's dead." to her. So, you pull her out of the tub, walk her to the back door, and set the creepy-crawly "free".

Thunderstorms.  Each and every time there was a thunderstorm this summer, C would ask if she could go outside to see the "lights".

For me, it's like I have the National Weather Service Ticker, Panic Edition running through my head: "If you can hear thunder, you are close enough to get struck by lightning", "If you can hear thunder, you are in danger", and, of course "Lightning is one of nature's biggest killers."

We have reached a nice compromise with this one: we safely watch the storms from our screened-in front porch. I do my best yoga-breathing and pretend that I'm not terrified that lightening is going to send that giant old oak tree crashing onto our front porch, and C pulls her little chair up to the window and watches the "light show."

Open Water. I have a very love/hate relationship with the ocean. I love it when I can safely place my feet on the bottom, clearly see my toes, and only be surrounded by non-threatening aquatic animals. I hate it when I am surrounded by seaweed and potentially threatening ocean life. Basically, I love pools. Especially those lovely pools at hotels in Aruba with swim-up bars and infinity edges that make you feel like you are in the ocean.

C has a very love/love relationship with the sea. She, quite literally, dives right in, and pulls clumps of whatever is lining the ocean floor up to the surface and energetically presents it to me with the amount of enthusiasm that only a toddler can exude. She pulls me into the water a little bit deeper each time. A little bit out of my comfort zone, and a world away from Aruba.

This morning, as I was standing knee deep in the murkiest of waters, I looked down at my baby girl, held her by her hands, and swung her toes through the water. She giggled with delight, just as I know she will when I drop her off on Tuesday morning. I know that next summer, she will be ready to walk a little bit deeper into these waters (maybe even put her face in, and blow a few bubbles), and I will be ready to follow my Brave Girl into her Big Brave World.