Letting Go

Well, it finally happened. Turtle fell off the four-foot playscape at our neighborhood playground, landing face first into the pea gravel. She is totally, completely fine, but the slow motion replay of her fall is all I can see. The dangling over the edge. The slow tipping forward. The other mother and I rushing towards her. The long fall that seemed to last forever, but not quite long enough for the mother one foot away to break her fall. The face plant, the crying, the frantic call to the pediatrician for guidance, the comforting by the other mothers, the retelling to Twin Daddy.

Turtle is fine. She cried hard for a couple of minutes and then reached for her snack cup. I feel like I’m recovering from a trauma. Turtle has had several minor injuries involving blood because she is both adventurous and a little unstable, due to her oversized toddler head and itty bitty bottom. But nothing this frightening. If Monkey had been dangling over the edge, she probably could have pulled herself back up because she inherited a very sturdy bottom half from Twin Momma. But tiny Turtle just went straight down.

I know it was an accident that could have happened to anyone. I know I can’t physically be in two places at the same time, so when the toddlers run in opposite directions, I just have to do my best. I know kids fall ALL the time, and it is to be expected. I’ve heard at least a dozen bad fall stories that all have happy endings. But when it’s your kid, none of that matters. All you feel is horrible and awful because something bad happened to your child. And that carefully constructed façade of total control? Forget it. You can limit sweets and TV to your heart’s content, but you can’t control the universe. Unpleasant things will happen to your child, and you can’t stop it. That’s the hard truth that splintered my façade of control when Turtle hit the ground Wednesday. Facing this truth has been somewhat traumatic, but at the same time, I feel a release. Like I’ve been forced to let go, just a little bit, of my drive to be perfect and in control. Instead, I have to accept the reality of parenthood. And I know that a real parent, not a perfect parent, is just what my girls need.