So I was watching this lady with her baby. He was a little guy, not yet
able to walk on his own despite the fact that he wore
those big white baby boots that always look so impossibly large on tiny baby
feet, but man did he want to. He was clamouring to be let down and
eventually his mother obliged setting his feet on the sidewalk, raising his
little arms in the air, his tiny hands curled into fists around her fingers
as she staggered behind him awkwardly. And off he went, so excited to be on
his feet his legs were five steps ahead of the rest of him. He leaned into
it, instinctively I suppose, as if he knew he was meant to do this, to go
forward, follow the path his feet were choosing for him, but alone, separate
and independent of this woman who was holding him upright. I remember my
own when they were that little. The first moment of confusion upon
discovering that these limbs were theirs to control and the sudden surge of
excitement, like an electrical charge passing through them, when they
understood, without really understanding, that whatever this meant it was so
important they were on the precipice of changing their whole world. The
lady now tired, her bent back and raised arms aching, scoops the little guy
up into her embrace for a moments reprieve. He is not happy. He lets out a
Gawd awful squeal, pushing against her, his little legs pumping the air
furiously his face turning red with frustration and effort until finally she
relents and lets him down again. And off he goes again chomping at the bit
to be free. I can't help but wonder if this moment is as bittersweet for
her as it was for me. Grateful that he is healthy and developing yet
terrified by the idea that once unleashed he cannot be contained, limited,
restricted, but never contained, that once begun the process can not be
stopped, all of it beyond her control, and the sickening realization that
one day this baby of hers is not going to need her as much or in the same
way. And it occurs to me that a lot of life is spent trying to be free,
scrambling to move forward on our own two feet, striving to be liberated
from the shackles that bind us to the people and things we love, from the
second our feet hit the ground. So I'm crying now, as I watch the lady and
her baby, their image blurring before me. Crying for a whole lot of
reasons, some that have to do with life and loss, but mostly because my
youngest son who turns 18 in a few weeks, is preparing to join the army and
despite the fact that his walking boots are a lot bigger now, I'm not ready
to let go of his hands.
--
Rhi
.
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| User: "Jane" |
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| Title: Re: Babies |
31 Aug 2007 05:35:43 PM |
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"Rhiannon" <rhianon@sympatico.ca> wrote in message
news:fb9g1c$vhe$1@news.datemas.de...
So I was watching this lady with her baby. He was a little guy, not yet
able to walk on his own despite the fact that he wore
those big white baby boots that always look so impossibly large on tiny
baby feet, but man did he want to. He was clamouring to be let down and
eventually his mother obliged setting his feet on the sidewalk, raising
his little arms in the air, his tiny hands curled into fists around her
fingers as she staggered behind him awkwardly. And off he went, so
excited to be on his feet his legs were five steps ahead of the rest of
him. He leaned into it, instinctively I suppose, as if he knew he was
meant to do this, to go forward, follow the path his feet were choosing
for him, but alone, separate and independent of this woman who was holding
him upright. I remember my own when they were that little. The first
moment of confusion upon discovering that these limbs were theirs to
control and the sudden surge of excitement, like an electrical charge
passing through them, when they understood, without really understanding,
that whatever this meant it was so important they were on the precipice of
changing their whole world. The lady now tired, her bent back and raised
arms aching, scoops the little guy up into her embrace for a moments
reprieve. He is not happy. He lets out a Gawd awful squeal, pushing
against her, his little legs pumping the air furiously his face turning
red with frustration and effort until finally she relents and lets him
down again. And off he goes again chomping at the bit to be free. I
can't help but wonder if this moment is as bittersweet for her as it was
for me. Grateful that he is healthy and developing yet terrified by the
idea that once unleashed he cannot be contained, limited, restricted, but
never contained, that once begun the process can not be stopped, all of it
beyond her control, and the sickening realization that one day this baby
of hers is not going to need her as much or in the same way. And it
occurs to me that a lot of life is spent trying to be free, scrambling to
move forward on our own two feet, striving to be liberated from the
shackles that bind us to the people and things we love, from the second
our feet hit the ground. So I'm crying now, as I watch the lady and her
baby, their image blurring before me. Crying for a whole lot of reasons,
some that have to do with life and loss, but mostly because my youngest
son who turns 18 in a few weeks, is preparing to join the army and despite
the fact that his walking boots are a lot bigger now, I'm not ready to let
go of his hands.
--
Rhi
Oh sweetie, I'm crying reading this, you so have a way with words and I
picture it as if I'm watching it. It's not leaving you emotionally hun
he'll be back in no time!
.
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| User: "Rhiannon" |
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| Title: Re: Babies |
01 Sep 2007 10:47:32 AM |
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"Jane" <jarsenal66nospam@hotmail.com> wrote in message
news:S_adnW73ZaoiCkXbnZ2dnUVZ_t-gnZ2d@adelphia.com...
<snipped story>
Oh sweetie, I'm crying reading this, you so have a way with words and I
picture it as if I'm watching it. It's not leaving you emotionally hun
he'll be back in no time!
Us mom's huh? Always crying over our kiddies for one reason or another.
You're right though, he's not leaving emotionally. And thank goodness for
the Internet! At least staying in touch will be easier than it would be if
I were relying on snail mail.
--
Rhi
.
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| User: "" |
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| Title: Re: Babies |
31 Aug 2007 12:01:14 PM |
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On Aug 31, 9:35 am, "Rhiannon" <rhia...@sympatico.ca> wrote:
So I was watching this lady with her baby. He was a little guy, not yet
able to walk on his own despite the fact that he wore
those big white baby boots that always look so impossibly large on tiny baby
feet, but man did he want to. He was clamouring to be let down and
eventually his mother obliged setting his feet on the sidewalk, raising his
little arms in the air, his tiny hands curled into fists around her fingers
as she staggered behind him awkwardly. And off he went, so excited to be on
his feet his legs were five steps ahead of the rest of him. He leaned into
it, instinctively I suppose, as if he knew he was meant to do this, to go
forward, follow the path his feet were choosing for him, but alone, separate
and independent of this woman who was holding him upright. I remember my
own when they were that little. The first moment of confusion upon
discovering that these limbs were theirs to control and the sudden surge of
excitement, like an electrical charge passing through them, when they
understood, without really understanding, that whatever this meant it was so
important they were on the precipice of changing their whole world. The
lady now tired, her bent back and raised arms aching, scoops the little guy
up into her embrace for a moments reprieve. He is not happy. He lets out a
Gawd awful squeal, pushing against her, his little legs pumping the air
furiously his face turning red with frustration and effort until finally she
relents and lets him down again. And off he goes again chomping at the bit
to be free. I can't help but wonder if this moment is as bittersweet for
her as it was for me. Grateful that he is healthy and developing yet
terrified by the idea that once unleashed he cannot be contained, limited,
restricted, but never contained, that once begun the process can not be
stopped, all of it beyond her control, and the sickening realization that
one day this baby of hers is not going to need her as much or in the same
way. And it occurs to me that a lot of life is spent trying to be free,
scrambling to move forward on our own two feet, striving to be liberated
from the shackles that bind us to the people and things we love, from the
second our feet hit the ground. So I'm crying now, as I watch the lady and
her baby, their image blurring before me. Crying for a whole lot of
reasons, some that have to do with life and loss, but mostly because my
youngest son who turns 18 in a few weeks, is preparing to join the army and
despite the fact that his walking boots are a lot bigger now, I'm not ready
to let go of his hands.
--
Rhi
Wow Rhi, that was so beautiful to read, I'm tearing up myself. I
think a lot of mothers can relate to what you're saying....that
struggle with the constant battle of holding on and letting go. I
know I struggle with it every day, trying to make choices that allow
them the freedom to explore their independance, to develop their own
ideas about themselves and the world, yet at the same time wanting to
hold on out of sheer terror, knowing what is out there and worrying
what pain that they will have to face in their journey.
Yes, it is so hard giving up more and more 'control' over what they
make of their lives as they grow older. But I know what an excellent
mother you are Rhi, and you have given him the most important things
that he can anchor himself to. You have taught him respect and
responsibitily, you have taught him kindness and fairness, you have
taught him to be self-reliant and bravery. I know you have taught him
these things because these are some of the characteristics you
emulate. Most of all, he has at the foundation of his being the love
of his mother, and that makes a big difference. I know you're really
worried, but I know you have faith and sometimes all you can do is put
things in His hands when there's not much else you can do. Your post
made me think of this poem....
If a child lives with criticism,
He learns to condemn.
If a child lives with hostility,
He learns to fight.
If a child lives with ridicule,
He learns to be shy.
If a child lives with shame,
He learns to feel guilty.
If a child lives with tolerance,
He learns to be patient.
If a child lives with encouragement,
He learns confidence.
If a child lives with praise,
He learns to appreciate.
If a child lives with fairness,
He learns justice.
If a child lives with security,
He learns to have faith.
If a child lives with approval,
He learns to like himself.
If a child lives with acceptance and friendship,
He learns to find love in the world.
You're going to be ok my friend, hang in there. Hugs and all that
stuff....
~Rose
.
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| User: "Rhiannon" |
|
| Title: Re: Babies |
01 Sep 2007 10:37:04 AM |
|
|
<smudgedrose@gmail.com> wrote in message
news:1188579674.651394.150860@r23g2000prd.googlegroups.com...
Wow Rhi, that was so beautiful to read, I'm tearing up myself. I
think a lot of mothers can relate to what you're saying....that
struggle with the constant battle of holding on and letting go. I
know I struggle with it every day, trying to make choices that allow
them the freedom to explore their independance, to develop their own
ideas about themselves and the world, yet at the same time wanting to
hold on out of sheer terror, knowing what is out there and worrying
what pain that they will have to face in their journey.
Yes, it is so hard giving up more and more 'control' over what they
make of their lives as they grow older. But I know what an excellent
mother you are Rhi, and you have given him the most important things
that he can anchor himself to. You have taught him respect and
responsibitily, you have taught him kindness and fairness, you have
taught him to be self-reliant and bravery. I know you have taught him
these things because these are some of the characteristics you
emulate. Most of all, he has at the foundation of his being the love
of his mother, and that makes a big difference. I know you're really
worried, but I know you have faith and sometimes all you can do is put
things in His hands when there's not much else you can do. Your post
made me think of this poem....
If a child lives with criticism,
He learns to condemn.
If a child lives with hostility,
He learns to fight.
If a child lives with ridicule,
He learns to be shy.
If a child lives with shame,
He learns to feel guilty.
If a child lives with tolerance,
He learns to be patient.
If a child lives with encouragement,
He learns confidence.
If a child lives with praise,
He learns to appreciate.
If a child lives with fairness,
He learns justice.
If a child lives with security,
He learns to have faith.
If a child lives with approval,
He learns to like himself.
If a child lives with acceptance and friendship,
He learns to find love in the world.
You're going to be ok my friend, hang in there. Hugs and all that
stuff....
~Rose
Thank you hon. That poem is beautiful. I have to maintain a balance
somewhere between happy for him and sad for me, but yeah, I'll be okay. :-)
--
Rhi
.
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| User: "Bacon" |
|
| Title: Re: Babies |
31 Aug 2007 03:37:48 PM |
|
|
On Fri, 31 Aug 2007 12:35:54 -0400, "Rhiannon" <rhianon@sympatico.ca>
wrote:
So I was watching this lady with her baby. He was a little guy, not yet
able to walk on his own despite the fact that he wore
those big white baby boots that always look so impossibly large on tiny baby
feet, but man did he want to. He was clamouring to be let down and
eventually his mother obliged setting his feet on the sidewalk, raising his
little arms in the air, his tiny hands curled into fists around her fingers
as she staggered behind him awkwardly. And off he went, so excited to be on
his feet his legs were five steps ahead of the rest of him. He leaned into
it, instinctively I suppose, as if he knew he was meant to do this, to go
forward, follow the path his feet were choosing for him, but alone, separate
and independent of this woman who was holding him upright. I remember my
own when they were that little. The first moment of confusion upon
discovering that these limbs were theirs to control and the sudden surge of
excitement, like an electrical charge passing through them, when they
understood, without really understanding, that whatever this meant it was so
important they were on the precipice of changing their whole world. The
lady now tired, her bent back and raised arms aching, scoops the little guy
up into her embrace for a moments reprieve. He is not happy. He lets out a
Gawd awful squeal, pushing against her, his little legs pumping the air
furiously his face turning red with frustration and effort until finally she
relents and lets him down again. And off he goes again chomping at the bit
to be free. I can't help but wonder if this moment is as bittersweet for
her as it was for me. Grateful that he is healthy and developing yet
terrified by the idea that once unleashed he cannot be contained, limited,
restricted, but never contained, that once begun the process can not be
stopped, all of it beyond her control, and the sickening realization that
one day this baby of hers is not going to need her as much or in the same
way. And it occurs to me that a lot of life is spent trying to be free,
scrambling to move forward on our own two feet, striving to be liberated
from the shackles that bind us to the people and things we love, from the
second our feet hit the ground. So I'm crying now, as I watch the lady and
her baby, their image blurring before me. Crying for a whole lot of
reasons, some that have to do with life and loss, but mostly because my
youngest son who turns 18 in a few weeks, is preparing to join the army and
despite the fact that his walking boots are a lot bigger now, I'm not ready
to let go of his hands.
Holy ***** that was good writing...now where can I read more of your
stuff?
.
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| User: "Rhiannon" |
|
| Title: Re: Babies |
01 Sep 2007 10:43:16 AM |
|
|
"Bacon" <rbkfour@yahoo.com> wrote in message
news:ksugd39safrd3bo7rrq0hj9omejk77fq4i@4ax.com...
On Fri, 31 Aug 2007 12:35:54 -0400, "Rhiannon" <rhianon@sympatico.ca>
wrote:
<snipped story>
Holy ***** that was good writing...now where can I read more of your
stuff?
Thanks Bacon! I have bits and pieces lying around that I plan to put up
somewhere online, hopefully within a couple of months. ;-)
--
Rhi
.
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| User: "" |
|
| Title: Re: Babies |
31 Aug 2007 11:58:07 AM |
|
|
On Fri, 31 Aug 2007 12:35:54 -0400, "Rhiannon" <rhianon@sympatico.ca>
wrote:
So I was watching this lady with her baby. He was a little guy, not yet
able to walk on his own despite the fact that he wore
those big white baby boots that always look so impossibly large on tiny baby
feet, but man did he want to. He was clamouring to be let down and
eventually his mother obliged setting his feet on the sidewalk, raising his
little arms in the air, his tiny hands curled into fists around her fingers
as she staggered behind him awkwardly. And off he went, so excited to be on
his feet his legs were five steps ahead of the rest of him. He leaned into
it, instinctively I suppose, as if he knew he was meant to do this, to go
forward, follow the path his feet were choosing for him, but alone, separate
and independent of this woman who was holding him upright. I remember my
own when they were that little. The first moment of confusion upon
discovering that these limbs were theirs to control and the sudden surge of
excitement, like an electrical charge passing through them, when they
understood, without really understanding, that whatever this meant it was so
important they were on the precipice of changing their whole world. The
lady now tired, her bent back and raised arms aching, scoops the little guy
up into her embrace for a moments reprieve. He is not happy. He lets out a
Gawd awful squeal, pushing against her, his little legs pumping the air
furiously his face turning red with frustration and effort until finally she
relents and lets him down again. And off he goes again chomping at the bit
to be free. I can't help but wonder if this moment is as bittersweet for
her as it was for me. Grateful that he is healthy and developing yet
terrified by the idea that once unleashed he cannot be contained, limited,
restricted, but never contained, that once begun the process can not be
stopped, all of it beyond her control, and the sickening realization that
one day this baby of hers is not going to need her as much or in the same
way. And it occurs to me that a lot of life is spent trying to be free,
scrambling to move forward on our own two feet, striving to be liberated
from the shackles that bind us to the people and things we love, from the
second our feet hit the ground. So I'm crying now, as I watch the lady and
her baby, their image blurring before me. Crying for a whole lot of
reasons, some that have to do with life and loss, but mostly because my
youngest son who turns 18 in a few weeks, is preparing to join the army and
despite the fact that his walking boots are a lot bigger now, I'm not ready
to let go of his hands.
This was touching, Rhi, and it reminded me of some of my own past joys
(and backaches!) The very best to your son also. May he be safe.
Jeanne
.
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| User: "Rhiannon" |
|
| Title: Re: Babies |
01 Sep 2007 10:23:51 AM |
|
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<jeanne@nycmail.com> wrote in message
news:cuhgd390u8skulfffjeguknnu2rm2640od@4ax.com...
On Fri, 31 Aug 2007 12:35:54 -0400, "Rhiannon" <rhianon@sympatico.ca>
wrote:
<snipped for brevity>
This was touching, Rhi, and it reminded me of some of my own past joys
(and backaches!) The very best to your son also. May he be safe.
Jeanne
Thank you. There is a blessing of sorts in the fact that all of this is
worse for me than it is him. I just want him to be happy and he is. :-)
--
Rhi
.
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| User: "Thomas F Tourette" |
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| Title: Re: Babies |
31 Aug 2007 12:00:47 PM |
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Rhiannon wrote:
So I was watching this lady with her baby.
You need to get a life.
.
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| User: "mighty mouse" |
|
| Title: Re: Babies |
31 Aug 2007 09:36:37 PM |
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|
Rhiannon wrote:
So I was watching this lady with her baby. He was a little guy, not yet
able to walk on his own despite the fact that he wore
those big white baby boots that always look so impossibly large on tiny baby
feet, but man did he want to. He was clamouring to be let down and
eventually his mother obliged setting his feet on the sidewalk, raising his
little arms in the air, his tiny hands curled into fists around her fingers
as she staggered behind him awkwardly. And off he went, so excited to be on
his feet his legs were five steps ahead of the rest of him. He leaned into
it, instinctively I suppose, as if he knew he was meant to do this, to go
forward, follow the path his feet were choosing for him, but alone, separate
and independent of this woman who was holding him upright. I remember my
own when they were that little. The first moment of confusion upon
discovering that these limbs were theirs to control and the sudden surge of
excitement, like an electrical charge passing through them, when they
understood, without really understanding, that whatever this meant it was so
important they were on the precipice of changing their whole world. The
lady now tired, her bent back and raised arms aching, scoops the little guy
up into her embrace for a moments reprieve. He is not happy. He lets out a
Gawd awful squeal, pushing against her, his little legs pumping the air
furiously his face turning red with frustration and effort until finally she
relents and lets him down again. And off he goes again chomping at the bit
to be free. I can't help but wonder if this moment is as bittersweet for
her as it was for me. Grateful that he is healthy and developing yet
terrified by the idea that once unleashed he cannot be contained, limited,
restricted, but never contained, that once begun the process can not be
stopped, all of it beyond her control, and the sickening realization that
one day this baby of hers is not going to need her as much or in the same
way. And it occurs to me that a lot of life is spent trying to be free,
scrambling to move forward on our own two feet, striving to be liberated
from the shackles that bind us to the people and things we love, from the
second our feet hit the ground. So I'm crying now, as I watch the lady and
her baby, their image blurring before me. Crying for a whole lot of
reasons, some that have to do with life and loss, but mostly because my
youngest son who turns 18 in a few weeks, is preparing to join the army and
despite the fact that his walking boots are a lot bigger now, I'm not ready
to let go of his hands.
--
Rhi
This is a beautiful post. I'm not a mother, but I can relate from the
perspective that it wasn't that long ago that I was 18 and moving out of
home and both excited and terrified to take those steps on my own.
I really believe you've taught your son well. The army is a great
career for a lot of people, I have a lot of respect and admiration for
anyone who joins.
I can imagine that it's just as exciting and terrifying for you to watch
him grow into a man and make these choices. I wish you strength.
Kylie
.
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| User: "Rhiannon" |
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| Title: Re: Babies |
01 Sep 2007 10:53:25 AM |
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"mighty mouse" <mousieNOSPAM9947@hotmail.com> wrote in message
news:fbaj7m$1t8$1@aioe.org...
Rhiannon wrote:
<snipped>
This is a beautiful post. I'm not a mother, but I can relate from the
perspective that it wasn't that long ago that I was 18 and moving out of
home and both excited and terrified to take those steps on my own.
I really believe you've taught your son well. The army is a great career
for a lot of people, I have a lot of respect and admiration for anyone who
joins.
I can imagine that it's just as exciting and terrifying for you to watch
him grow into a man and make these choices. I wish you strength.
Kylie
Thanks Kylie. Yeah, he's a good boy and I'm very proud of him. Actually I
agree with you on the career choice. The army is one place to get life
skills he might not get otherwise, and he's hoping to go into politics one
day and believes this will be a good starting point. I read once that being
a parent means wearing your heart on the outside of your chest for the rest
of your life. Ha! They weren't kidding.
--
Rhi
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