My friend’s dog had puppies today, little black balls of German Shepherd fluff. They whined and struggled against the small box they lay in, trying to get to their mom. The ones that had just been born were already cuddled against her, seeking their nourishment from her in their blind struggle as she licked them clean with every bit of tenderness a mother has for her child. When I had walked in, she had barked at me alarmingly, protecting her young against any stranger that might mean them harm. I went straight to her side, ignoring the puppies despite my eagerness to feel how soft their fur was and how wiggly their small bodies were, how their small bodies might be against my suddenly large hands. Instead I pet her head and crooned how proud I was of her, reassuring her that I was the same old Crissi she had known the whole two years of her life. She settled down and went back to feeding her babies, licking them clean and comforting them as she got ready to give birth to the last two puppies to make a total of 10.
I told my son about the puppies when I came to pick him up from school. He wanted to hear all about them, and was anxious for the time when we were allowed to hold them and help bottle feed them. And I told him about Lulu’s reaction to me when I had walked in the door.
“She probably feels the same way about them as you do about us,” he said in his 8 year old wisdom.
“How so?” I asked him, warmed all through my heart that he could make that kind of correlation.
“She probably loves them so much and wants to make sure they’re safe, and wants to protect them from anything that might hurt them.”
“I think you’re right,” I told him.
We were on our way to a birthday party. He had been excited about going since learning of it two days ago. It was one of the kids from his baseball team, a seasoned player he looked up to. He had been adamant about getting him the best present ever, and we settled on a Super Soaker water gun from Longs Drugs (or CVC, whatever they’re calling it these days). He wanted to get more, but at $20, I told him that was more than enough for a kid he barely knew. When we got home, he wanted to wrap it right then, but I made him do his homework first. He rushed through it, then set about the house looking for wrapping paper. Unfortunately all we had was Christmas wrap. And none of it was perfect. We ended up using one that was designed with red and white stripes like a candy cane, and he decorated it with lots of well wishes and words about the team in permanent black ink to take away from the holiday feel. He wrote birthday greetings in a card he had picked out and taped it with care on the package. He was so proud of his creation!
This morning he was nearly bursting at the seams about the party. And when I came to pick him up after school, he was ready without a fuss, full of excitement for the upcoming party. He talked the whole ride there: about the puppies, about school, and about the party. He was just happy in general, a sharp contrast to the bad mood he usually was in after school when I interrupted his playtime with his friends to take him home.
We arrived there, and he bounced out of his seat to walk with me to the door. One of the dads let us in, introducing us to the adults that were already there. My son walked shyly behind me, crowding my arm as we walked into the unfamiliar setting. I led him to the living room where the other kids were. There was the birthday boy and his brothers and sisters. And there was one more kid who tended to play rough with the other kids, especially to my son. I could feel my son tense up beside me, getting closer as the reality hit him that he didn’t really know anyone.
“Are you going to be ok?” I asked him, and he nodded wide-eyed. I could feel the lump in his throat as it was mirrored in mine. I didn’t want to just abandon him in a house full of strangers. But I had to get back to work and finish my day.
“I’ll just sit over here till more kids come,” he said, pointing to a corner of the house away from the kids that were already there.
“Don’t be silly,” I said, though I understood his feelings perfectly well. I had never done well in strange situations, preferring to sit unnoticed in a corner while I forced myself to mingle and smile. “Sit with your friends.” I looked him in the eye and then gave him a hug. I reminded myself that he has an uncanny ability to let go of his guard and make friends with just about everyone. “Everything will be fine.”
I left my number with the adults in charge, feeling a little piece of my heart pull away from me and stay with him as I walked outside and closed the door behind me. If I were Lulu, I’d be barking at these strangers, holding him close, not letting him leave my side.
We are mothers. We want to protect our children. But we also want to teach them independence. And sometimes, letting go is the hardest part.
