Let Them Be Big

Like so many parents, I have clung to the idea “Let them be little” when raising my children.  I preserved their sense of wonder through nature scavenger hunts  and washed their security blankets for years after they “should” have been discarded.  Princess costumes were worn to the park, and the living room walls were painted Teenaged Mutant Ninja Turtle green.  “There is time for them to be grown-up,” I told myself.  But when I was holding on so tight to childhood, my daughter grew up.

I’m not entirely sure where the saying “Let them be little”came from, but it’s one so often repeated. In addition to the glorious Instagram-worthy moments of childhood where my children frolicked happily in fields and stargazed with homemade telescopes, the saying served as a reminder to appreciate these fleeting years.

Let them be little…because they will only mispronounce words for so long.

Let them be little…because you won’t always be sitting in a parking lot with a gigantic to-do list waiting for the nap to end.

Let them be little…because you won’t be their favorite forever.

All of the sudden, my eldest got big.  At first the transition from little girl to tween was jarring, happening so suddenly.  The closed bedroom door and eye rolls were coming from the child who I let be little and bring a dozen stuffed animals along for every errand.  Messages to friends are being written by the girl I let be little and whose lunch box contained a silly riddle every day.  No longer can I say “Let them be little” about my first born.

What is a mother to do? Let them be big.

Of course, age-appropriateness comes into play with my parenting choices.  But I’m fully embracing “Let them be big” as readily as I did the little counterpart.  My oldest daughter and her cousin, fifteen days her junior, are ready to be big.

One of their most recent “big” moments was riding the newest addition to Knott’s Berry Farm.  Before their first roller coasters a few years back I double checked their height twice against the theme park signage. Are you truly 48 inches tall or is it just the shoes? When I couldn’t deny their height, I rode next to them with the classic “mom arm” blocking the ride’s shoulder harness in some foolish belief that they were safer that way.  But with this new thrill ride, there was nothing I could do but let them be big.

HangTime is aptly named as you ascend in a vertical lift and then hang.  My daughter, the child I held all-night long because I couldn’t bear to put down, and a nephew I cherish as my own were hanging face down while look at the 2,198 feet of track.  Literally hanging 150 feet in the air.  Let them be big. Let them be big.  Let them be big.

Let them be big as they race through 5 inversions, screaming half out of fear and half from exhilaration.  They are safe.  They are having fun.  They are big.

These moments of transition are hard on a mama.  To let go means my daughter needs me a little less, that her new experiences will happen more often with peers than her parents.  But finding opportunities to be big that both she and I are comfortable with are important.  And just as I used “Let them be little” as a reminder to embrace the frustrations and wonders of childhood alike, I’m repeating “Let them be big” as a mantra for the exploration and independence of this next phase.

Let them be big…as they push past height requirements and try to push past bedtimes.

Let them be big…as their look transforms from Disney princess chic to slightly more punk rock chick.

Let them be big…as they tackle the tallest ride of their lives and swear they weren’t scared.

My role as a mama is changing as is my mantra.  While I adjust to these changes from my tween, I will cherish the memories of Vaseline-covered walls and handprint cards.  But we can’t live in those days forever, and it looks like I have no choice but to let them be big.