darkness grows as my children grow

watching a raven fly overhead

Today our Little Ladie is having her first unassisted swimming lesson.
 
Yesterday our Little Man took his first unassisted step.

(Sob!)
 
It's wonderful and exciting and incredible to see my babies becoming more independent. And a little bit sad as well.
 
I'm trying to type while watching the Little Ladie in her first unassisted (as in no parent in there with her) swimming lesson, but I'm very distracted. There are only two kids in the lesson and the teacher is calm but fun. It's neat to be able to observe my big kid in this kind of a setting. She's not the bravest kid of the class, she lets the other volunteer to go first on each go, and despite being very nervous she watches closely. She's following the lead of the other student and trying so hard.
 
It's funny to observe the difference between Adelaide in the pool with me and with a teacher. Clinging onto her rapidly vanishing babyhood, I coddle and cuddle her into the pool, allowing for apprehension of head-submersion and encouraging an atmosphere of challenge by choice.
 
Teacher Mike here, seems so kind and gentle with her, but I haven't heard him give her any choice other than "who goes first." With trepidation I watch as her lets her dunk under water as she shoots off the water slide. This time last week I did the same with her and she positively freaked out; screeching like a galah and clinging like a koala.

But with Teacher Mike she just wipes her eyes (a little ferociously I notice) and gulps her way to the edge to await her next turn. I like to think that I’m a fair and level-headed parent but it seems that somehow I permit her to go to pieces in situations she may otherwise manage to keep it together.

It makes me wonder if perhaps our Little Man might be quite capable of walking but, like his sister, pulling the wool over my eyes by crying and wailing when sat on the floor in order to have me lug him around the house on my hip.

Maybe they allow themselves to go to pieces for my personal pleasure (please hear the weary sarcasm in that), because I offer them an emotional safe place. Maybe I baby them in order to cling onto the remnants of the baby’s they once were.

I’m not sure which conclusion I prefer.