There's a song from Mama Mia, where Meryl Streep rhapsodizes about children on buses. Slipping through my fingers. It's sad and beautiful, and when I watched the movie with my mom and sisters, ( husbands were less interested...not exactly sure why) I bawled like a baby.
Now, Kid One is 8, and today I bundled him up, and kicked him out the door through the rain. Not as sentimental as Ms. Streep puts it, but still I watched him as he went, and said a little prayer for him. He's new in the school, and I'm praying that the kids will be nicer to them than they have been lately.
Today, also, is Kid Two's Kindergarten Roundup. That will make me cry, I guarantee it.
I guess then, that it shouldn't surprise me that having my book out in the world is scary. People are going to like it, people are going to hate it, people are going to be indifferent to it, same way they will be to each and every one of my children.
My kids (the three human, and one novel), of course, are brilliant, beautiful, perfect little creatures, that get every strengths from me. They reflect me, but they aren't me, even though that's what it feels like.
It's scary, being a parent. knowing you've done everything you can but now they are just out there, where the rains fall, waiting to be condemned, or condoned, adored or ignored. I want to protect them. I want to be there to glare at the bullies, to encourage when they're feeling down, to stand up and say "Pick my kid!"
But I can't.
All I can do is pray.