Unofficial Milestones.

Unofficial milestones. They happen all the time, all around us, every time we blink at just the right moment.

I’m learning parenthood is all just a beautiful, but painful, slow release of grasp. When we start out with our sweet-smelling bundles, we feel we are forging this brand new trail and embarking on this novel journey, beginning a shining project called: Keep The Human You (super casually) CREATED, Alive and Kind and Happy and Unspoiled and Pristine and Productive and… I walked right into that one armed with bubble wrap and baby “bibles” and advice from the one (only!) peer friend I knew who’d birthed a human as well. Like the people-pleasing firstborn that I am, I wanted to do all the things. So. Well! I wanted to mom, so hard. I wanted to nurture my face off. I fed on demand….but had strict nap schedules. I showered my babes with love…but also put them in timeout. *sigh*.

But then they grow. And some more. And some more. And they boldly grow even more. They gain inches and add pounds. Their hair gets long and needs a cut, over and over and over. Nails (Oh Lord, the nails). They need trimming all the doggone time. And then they graduate preschool…but kindergarten is just half-day…but: the BUS. Then full day school. And grades start whizzing by, punctuated by games and field trips and recitals and spirit weeks and signing homework logs. Money flies out of our pockets and into our PTAs. We buy Girl Scout cookies and raffle tickets supporting teams and causes. And there are plenty of “big deal” moments of celebration. First and Last Day of School. Moving upstairs in the building. Becoming the safety on the bus. And there are also the “passage of time” annual events that crop up each year like daddy daughter dances and talent shows where we note their differences as compared to the year before, and all the other years before and before.

And then there are the Unofficial Milestones. The quiet moments that no one prepares us for. There’s no event to get dressed up for. No pomp and circumstance. No crowd. No camera at the ready. They’re these sneaky little son-of-a-gun seconds in time that knock you off balance and suck the wind from your lungs. Today was one of those days. My first babe. The one who got the most bubble wrap. We were late adopters to the “ride your bike to the pool” brigade. One after another of my daughter’s friends had been granted permission. Some have cell phones. And Instagram accounts. And Snapchats. None of this am I ready for. I only just made peace with this “Entrance to ‘Tweendom” thing. I need some breathing room. I typically try to strike a balance between the “omg all the bad things that can happen have you seen the news?” zone and the “I have faith in the universe that all will be right and well” zone…leaning slightly more to the cautious side but, whatevs. I’m coo.

But back to today. We’d recently stumbled upon a Bike Rodeo down the shore where the PBA did a free event to promote bicycle safety. She listened to all the rules and suggestions made by the police officers. She independently (with a screwdriver!) moved a bell from her old bike to her new bike, as recommended. She checked her tires (they need air). All the while I watched, quietly, hoping maybe she’d forget about the whole thing, maybe? Yeah right. She’d asked when she could. She’d talked to her friends about it. She was getting excited. Shoot. It’s happening. I kept sort of trying to delay it, but today was the trial run: Dad jogged alongside her on the way there and later drove behind her as she went home to make sure she was truly road safe. Tomorrow she will join the peloton pack of boy neighbors and ride off without grownup supervision. And after swim practice she will join her friends for a breakfast treat at Manhattan Bagels and return home, where I’ll be waiting for her. It’s good. She’s ready. But ohhhhh. My heart. Unofficial milestones, man.