To Be Little

Tonight I went to the girls' parents night at preschool for the new school year.  It was at 6pm, giving me just enough time after Ian got home from work to do a quick catch up on our days and a full on switcheroo.

I pulled up to the familiar spot.  Strange that it's been three whole months since parking and walking in, stranger still without a large belly and my girls in tow.

I had to orchestrate my time well.  Two classes this go around, one me.  Since I'd met Louise's teachers on numerous occasions and visited the class with her in the spring I opted to put my attention towards Ainsley's class.

I walked into the room.  Three times the size of her classroom from last year.  I greeted the teachers, they asked how to pronounce our last name.  Laughing, as they always do, when I tell them my maiden name was Rogers...what a jump!  Then the squat down to those tiny chairs, the blank page lined with flowers or crayons or balloons to write a first day note to my girl.

Short and sweet, I think to myself.  Positive.  Upbeat.

Dear Ainsley,
   I am so excited for you.  I can't wait to hear about all of the new friends you're making and the great things you're learning from your wonderful teachers.  What a grand adventure! I love you!
  Love, Mama

I am satisfied.  Remembering last year when I agonized over the same letter, only to realize that it was pretty much passed over for all the fun she was having at her new school.

Then the teachers began.  Welcoming, explaining.  I sat and listened, eager, calm.

As they walked around the room, pointing out amenities, favorite spots and activities, it hit me.  Ainsley is so little.

She is the biggest of mine, yes, but in the grand scheme?  So very tiny little.

She imagines and dreams and writes and helps and sometimes I forget that she is still so very small.

Others in her class are their parents' babies and they know so acutely how little they are.  I?  Need reminding.

Because I ask a lot of Ainsley.  I expect so much.  Most of the time this is good.  For her and for me.  She rises to the occasion of big sister. LOVES fetching and checking on and caring for.  Feeds off of leadership and a bit of authority.

But still.  She is so very little.

Before Felix was born Ainsley got a package from my big sister, the biggest of us four girls.  In it was a signed copy of Rapunzel (now one of the girls' most prized possessions).  Along with the book was a card, a letter really that my big sister wrote to Ainsley.  I've placed it in her baby book, because that's where it belongs.

The gist of the note was this.  How wonderful to be a big sister again! for the second time! but oh, a bit hard too.  To be the biggest, the one overlooked sometimes, the one who is expected to be strong and helpful and extra good. It's a hard job to be the biggest, wonderful, but hard.  I love you.

I've read that note so many times.  All at once understanding so much about my big sister, her place in this world and our family, and my biggest one, my first one, my still so tiny girl.

As her teachers talked about tiny plush bears being used to talk about feelings and play dough as a first week of school manipulative for soothing nervous hands and mud play and water tables and carpet time, it hit me over and over.  Ainsley is so little.

I glided through the rest of the meeting.  Scooted over to Louise's class to catch the end of the chat.  Smiled and hugged the parents I know, caught up briefly about summer goings on.  Got back in my car and drove home.

Now here I sit after tidying and bedtime and potstickers for dinner.  And truthfully?  I feel a bit sad.  I bit guilty that it took this session tonight to remind me of my little girl, of her smallness and fragility.

Just today we had a write down moment.  I was flustered with a fussy Felix, trying to organize the clutter I'd taken out of our car after hand detailing it with them all underfoot, readying it to be traded in. Ainsley had asked to get herself and Louise some juice for snack and I snippily agreed.

Mommy? Would you like some juice?
No! No thank you.  Mommy does not want any juice.
(ensue a few minutes of trying to multitask unsuccessfully)
Mommy? Would you like some juice?
NO! I SAID I DIDN'T WANT JUICE!
(the sweetest saddest most disappointed face ever)
Well, is there anything else that I can get for you then?

Oh boy. I wish I could take that back.  But really, it's just one example of many when I don't have the time and mental capacity to be receptive to her sweetness, her thoughtfulness.

I have those moments with all of my kids.  The ones when I'm busy with the girls and Felix is over being in his bouncer and all I want to do is hold him and comfort him, but I can't just then.  The ones when I'm nursing Felix and Louise is desperate to play a floor game with me and I just don't have the hands at that moment to set it up with her.  The ones when I'm snuggling Louise on my lap and Ainsley wants in and the two can't seem to fit so well on my thighs anymore, and they fight and I wave the white flag and leave them to their own devices.

Those moments can overtake me so easily. But just as easy? to ride them out, count to 5, 10, whatever it takes.  Wave that white flag and start again.  Find that scrap of patience, pick even one small thing to do just with them, with that one, for a moment or two.  Because? they are so very little, and they deserve that from me.

I am the big one.  The only big one around most times.  I can handle it.  But they? are so very teeny tiny little.  What a precious time this is.  I needed that reminder.