A Delicate Balance

As infants, they seemed so impossibly fragile: Support their heads. Protect the soft spot. Don’t let them sleep on their backs (or their stomachs?). Watch what they put into their mouths. Don’t leave them unattended on a bed, lest they roll off.

The vigilance was constant.

But it’s now, I realize, when they’re really vulnerable. Out of sight, at all hours, driving with newly-licensed friends, experimenting. Far from my watch.

My nervousness when they were babies was soothe-able: I would pick them up and cradle them close. Feel them breathe.

But as they grow into themselves, my worry runs rampant.

I can’t hold onto them anymore, I can’t be omniscient. I have to give them room or else they will take more than they need. Because they can.

And  I will lose.

They don’t want my absence, and I don’t want their dependence. 

It will forever be a delicate balance.