She was nervous. She hadn’t said so, but a mama knows her girl. Something about the way she sat and took in her surroundings clued me in.
Shoot. I wanted this to be fun, but she’s scared.
Something in me screams to call it off. Rescue her. Take her out for ice cream. A bowl covered with candy sprinkles should fix this.
Instead, I swallow hard, smile in her direction, more brightly than I feel, and walk out the door.
She’ll be fine.
Right?
I think so.
I hope so.
***
This should get easier. I’ve done it with the squalling babe when I handed my child over to the nursery volunteer, and later when I dropped them off at a new class. I let go of the bicycle when they begged me to hang on and run alongside. I take them to therapy when they would rather not talk about hard things. It doesn’t get easier. The stakes get higher and the outcomes bigger, for better or worse.