They start off as little tiny creatures that are inside of you, so close, that it feels like the are a part of you. That emptiness after you've given birth, and suddenly there is no being inside of you.... it's a bit bittersweet. It's exhilarating, sure, to be so light all of a sudden. Yet it's also just a bit sad too, hollow. But the baby, the baby is so close. It still is a part of you. The baby still is you. Your milk nourishes it's tiny body, keeps it alive. Your child needs your touch, your scent. You are still one.
But then over time, it changes. They start to become independent little beings. Who have their own minds, their own desires, their own needs, their own feelings, and their own thoughts.
My children are not me.
I mean, if I wanted to, I could try and raise them as little carbon copies of myself. Not allow them to question, or think. Stifle their thoughts and feelings and force them to be something they are not. But that isn't what I want for them.
And so, they do things that are completely contrary to things I would do. They make choices that are completely impossible for me to understand. They may go off and live lives for themselves that I would never have imagined.
They are my tiny people, yes. But they are people. They are not me. And it's kind of weird to remember that. They won't be my babies for long. I have to let them make mistakes. Make their own choices. I have to cherish and take care of them. And help them learn to be whoever they are.
Heck, the world's already got me. It needs Georgina. It needs Charles.
And that's even better.
Because those two little people are awesome.
Linking this post up with Grace today! (It's been a long time since I've posted on Friday!)