Several years ago I bought “Inside Out” for my daughter to watch at her birthday party with an adorable group of six-year-old girls. I had never seen it before. In retrospect, this may have been a mistake.
If you’ve seen “Inside Out” you know it is a nearly perfect film. It’s touching, funny, and insightful in exactly the ways you always hope a movie would be. It’s also EMOTIONAL, especially if you’re a six-year-old girl. . . I mean, I should have seen this coming as it’s literally about emotions, but it just didn’t occur to me. At one point in the movie, every little girl was sniffling. . . and so was I. As someone who struggles to understand, identify or embrace my own emotions, there was something deeply cathartic about seeing Joy’s realization that all the happy moments also involved some sadness. Nowhere is this more true than parenting.
Seeing this movie in the company of some precious little girls may have been why my brain was primed for the parenting connection. Riley’s parents were great and all, but my moment of identification came from Bing Bong, Riley’s imaginary friend.
As Bing Bong explains the connection he used to have with Riley, I saw myself with my kids as toddlers and preschoolers. None of them had imaginary friends, but they had me. I was their partner on adventures. I was the one singing them songs and looking at books together. We did puzzles, we had impromptu dance parties, and we played games. We ate nearly every meal together for the first five years of their lives. I have been with my kids for the majority of their waking moments (and quite a few of their sleeping ones) and I wouldn’t have it any other way.
But those days won’t last forever.
As Bing Bong and Joy climbed on the wagon/rocket ship, I wasn’t sure where the plot was taking us. We all know imaginary friends have a limited shelf life (we hope). Riley was going to have to leave this character behind, but how would it happen in the context of a children’s movie? In a beautiful act of self-sacrifice, Bing Bong allows himself to be forgotten so that Riley can eventually reclaim her joy as she realizes that beauty and pain go hand-in-hand.
As Bing Bong fades from her memory he says, “Take her to the moon for me, okay?” And this mom broke down.
Isn’t that how motherhood feels? We are their constant partner, their playmate and confidant. And one day, we come to realize our role has changed. We are watching them soar all on their own. They don’t need us the way they used to. All the identity we founding being “Mommy” starts to fade away. The pride we took in how great we were at being their mom shifts to pride in their accomplishments and character as individuals totally outside of us.
The hours we spent investing in them get filled with other things, but there’s just nothing quite like being a mom to a child whose world revolves around you.
I’m watching my older kids stretch their wings. In much the same way they did as wobbly-legged toddlers, they venture out from me and then they come back. The venturing is now longer and farther away, but here is where they return for comfort and encouragement, guidance and occasional discipline. And for food. They always return for food.
But I know the day is coming when they will make that last leap away from my home. My parenting is always with that in mind. They will no longer HAVE to come back here by the time the street lights come on or after they finish that last game of soccer in the neighbor’s backyard. They will come back here when they want to. . . IF they want to.
I will no longer be the main character in their adventures. They will start new chapters and whole stories without me. This is as it should be. But I don’t want to fade away. I hope they know they can always come home to me for comfort and encourage and guidance and for food. Always for food.
I look forward to what our relationship will be like when we are equals and friends. I love seeing who they are becoming. I am already talking to my kids about being gracious with me when someday many years from now I will need their help figuring out technology or doing my spring gardening. There are things I am anticipating joyfully about these next stages.
But sometimes I have a Bing Bong moment as I watch my kids soar. I feel myself fading away. And as I go, I hope my kids always know this motherhood thing wasn’t really about me. It was about making them the best people I could help them be. As they need me less and less, may I be willing to let them fly, finding joy in watching them go to the moon, even as they leave me on the earth.
My daughter brought me her stuffed Bing Bong the other day. She was cleaning out her room and felt she had outgrown it. I told her that was fine, but instead of putting Bing Bong in the box to donate, he’s found a home with me, where I can make eye-contact with him. I need that reminder— that my kid are going to soar and my job is to let them. Even in that sad moment, I will feel some joy. And even in the joyful moments of my parenting today, it’s okay to feel a little sad in knowing this won’t last forever.
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