When they were young the voice of Barbara Coloroso was in my head; don’t fight with them to put on the mittens. If their hands get cold they will put them on, or have cold hands. And, the day to day decisions of parenting were somewhat ruled by the underlying lesson of that example. Is it going to harm them?

I’m a worrier. It’s true. I was the mother who walked her kids to school and waited by the crosswalk until the bell rang. If they were anxious before they left for school for one thing or another, I was anxious until they walked back through my door. I felt their highs and lows, the joys and tough times in my gut.

My daughters have grown up. They wear their mittens in the cold weather. My eldest is pregnant. She will soon understand. I take comfort in that. And, knowing that she will see me in a softer light, for some of the decisions we butted heads about. Motherhood is like that.

I still feel the angst of their choices.  Mittens were easy. Cozy. Now the scope of things for me to worry about has broadened. Even though, I know they are smart and independent. Even though, I know that it is their lives, and their decisions to make. Their choices of who to love, careers to navigate. Those of us who parent adult children understand that we are not at liberty to direct their lives. We can encourage and support, we can be honest, and we can talk. It is their choice to listen, heed, agree or deny. Even so – I still feel it all in my gut.

But.  A mother knows things. It’s instinct. A bird senses danger and hides amidst the branches, the balance of still and flight. Our instinct is extremely powerful. I believe this. And, I think it’s a power we have to listen to, not always act upon, but to weigh, to balance.

Instinct. We need to understand and covet its mystique and know when to take cover or take flight. And, always when it comes to those things that fall outside the mitten metaphor, we should, I believe, listen closely. Toss rational thought, and the opinions of others to the wind, and follow our gut.