Parting is Such Sweet Sorrow

I majored in theatre in college. In doing so, I carried out a tradition that started with my maternal grandmother. Acting is in my genes. My great-grandfather performed skits in his basement in front of a camera. Footage that has been miraculously preserved for over 60 years. But the person from whom I really caught the bug was my mom. She was my acting coach in high school. I vividly remember us sitting outside of the Gilmore Theatre Complex in the spring of 1997 practicing my audition monologue for WMU. I got in on my first audition. I put that dream aside after college to focus on more practical things, like getting a full time job and figuring out who I was. In the summer of 2005 I auditioned for the first time in over 3 years. The play: Taming of the Shrew. The place: Celery Flats. That role led me to Trevor and we all know that story by now.

Tonight I have just put Jack to bed. The only sound I hear is the occasional dog bark from outside and the sound of 2 competing ticking clocks. Trevor is at Celery Flats, the most beloved place I know directing Shakespeare in the park. I sit in a quiet house and I don't quite know how to feel about it.  It's been over 2 years since I performed onstage. There are many reasons why, but first and foremost, I don't know of the show that would be special enough to take me away from Jack at night. But there is an exhilaration that comes with performing that is hard to find anywhere else. It doesn't compare to parenting. That would be like saying, I really love my sister, but I also love long walks along the beach. The love you have for your sister and the beach don't compete with each other, they comprise two very unique and distinct aspects of who you are. But while you can walk along the beach with your sister, it's very hard to rehearse for a show with a toddler.

I have written at length about the wonder of being a mom. It's the best thing I've done and has brought me more fulfillment than 10,000 plays ever could. But here's the thing about parenting. The thing that no one really wants to talk about for fear that they would appear ungrateful for the miracle of their children. The sacrifices that parenting demands can make you feel like parts of you are being stripped away and sometimes you don't quite know who's left. How do you think the "mom jean" phenomenon emerged? No one who remembered who she was in college would wear those things!!

So, for now I say goodbye to theatre and it is such sweet sorrow. The wonderful thing about theatre is that it will always be there. I know this time with Jack won't. It's an easy decision in my head, but in my heart I do miss that part of me who was an actress- who felt vivid and alive in a way that I don't always feel anymore.

In the summer of 2010, pregnant with Jack, I went to Celery Flats and sat in the audience for the very first time. After 5 straight years of performing, I was now playing the role of 3rd row center. The play: Romeo and Juliet. I watched with rapture as the lines tripped off the tongues of the actors, while swords clanked together, while fireflies danced around the stage above our heads. Shakespeare feels like a brother to me, a legendary brother who died before I was born, who left me this amazing legacy. Watching his work performed in that space is like being home. I was only 3 months pregnant. I rubbed the little bump and hoped that somehow the words were washing over him so that he'll love Shakespeare someday too.

So much changes with the arrival of a baby. Bodies change, schedules change, priorities change. Cabinets get safety locks on them. Toys, books, and gates start appearing throughout your entire house.  Your home is taken over by a 2 foot tall ball of curiosity and mischief.

Right now there are crumbs all over my dining room floor, tiny hand prints are embedded in the dust on the bookshelves (you will know how much time I spend with Jack by the amount of dust in the living room), an exersaucer and a pack & play (two things I never even knew existed 2 years ago) clutter up my kitchen and bedroom.

Right now Trevor is getting a reminder of who we were.

I am constantly reminded of who I am.

It's hard. No doubt about it, these choices are hard.

So for tonight, God is my director and I am cast in the role of "Mom". I read my lines with enthusiasm. I give the animals in "Where's Spot" special and unique voices. I gently sway around the room with a sleepy Jack while I sing lullabies and make up my own choreography.

For tonight, I am the star of this show.

Audience: Jack

The play: My Sweet Sweet Life

This play will run for quite some time and the audience may grow. There is no program, no critic, no intermission, no lights, no special effects, no costumes, NO MOM JEANS.

Just me and my baby and a wishful prayer to keep those parts of me that blossomed in the years before becoming a mom sacred and alive, even if it means reading each book as if Shakespeare wrote it himself.

Spot, Spot, wherefore art thou lost?

Emerge from thy basket and greet the young Jack

Who most passionately awaits your return.

Curtain.

Jack at Celery Flats Amphitheatre, October 2011

Finding Spot

wean/wēn/

Verb:

Accustom (an infant or other young mammal) to food other than its mother's milk. Accustom (someone) to managing without something on which they have become dependent or of which they have become excessively fond

Last night Jack went to bed without nursing.  He has done this before, but never while I'm at home.

Oh boy.

We have been weaning in earnest for a while, but the nighttime feeding was the last one to go.  Lest you think I'm weaning because I think a 16 month old is too old to nurse, let me assure you, I don't.  I probably had a lot of opinions about moms who nurse their babies past 1 year, but that was before I had my own.  I am weaning for me, because I need to re-align my body.  No, I'm not pregnant, but I feel strongly that I need to get some things back in balance that have been out of balance before I become pregnant again.  Taking care of yourself as a mother is one of the most challenging things you can ever do.  I get that now.  In addition, Jack is starting to let go of it too and I'm following his lead.  It will be slow going, I don't have any deadlines, we'll go as long as we both can and then find new ways to bond.

We struggled a lot with nursing in the beginning.  I remember when Jack was 3 weeks old, Trevor and I went to the Bronson Breastfeeding Center to let the nurses there teach me how to hold him and coax him into a proper latch.  She weighed him and marked it on a piece of paper- right down to the ounce so she could weigh him after he ate to see how much milk he had gotten.  I remember the feeling of having him nurse correctly.  There was no pain and I could hear the faint sound of milk rushing through his tiny gummy mouth and into his belly.  The nurse left us alone for awhile while the 3 of us sat in the tiny room amazed at why we didn't seek help sooner.  When she returned she weighed him again.  I remember vividly the sight of tiny legs kicking on the scale.  "3 ounces!  Great job mama!"  It brings a tear to my eye recalling that moment when I said to myself- You can do it.  You have built this cathedral called Jack and you can feed him too.  Everything you are is all that you need.

I have nursed and pumped in all sorts of places- 

• the backseat of my car
• standing in the hallway outside of a restaurant while a gaggle of female family members created a perimeter around me
• in various beds
• in a single stall bathroom trying ever so delicately to keep the pump balanced on a sink
• in my workplace's well equipped lactation room where, separated by a partition, I would talk to other moms doing the exact same thing, talking about our lives and our children

But it wasn't always breastmilk gymnastics.  We had many more times together, quiet times when nursing became a meditation for both of us, when heart rates slowed and breathing quieted.  When we both experienced the most familiar and comforting thing in our little world- the aspect of our relationship that had been there since the very beginning.  For my friends who couldn't or chose not to breastfeed, there is nothing here that doesn't apply to you.  Skin to skin contact comes in many forms.  I could have just as easily laid his cheek on my chest at the end of the day and we would have experienced the same peacefulness.  

Breastfeeding has been one of the greatest blessings of my life and I will miss it.  A lot.  One could even say, per the definition of weaning, that I've become excessively fond of it and I'm the one who's weaning more than Jack.

So what will I miss?

I will miss the way that his little hand would reach up and twist my hair or pat my cheek.

I will miss the way his little eyes got excited when it was time to nurse and yes, he would sometimes even giggle a little, he'd be so excited!

I will miss the time we shared in the evenings when the whole house was quiet except for the sound of Trevor upstairs washing dishes while Jack and I had our time together (these Gen X dads are so evolved, I love it :)

What will we gain?

I will experience my body again.  For 2 years I have shared it with another person, growing him inside of me and feeding him.  I have felt very disconnected from myself in many ways, although in other ways I have felt like the truest version of myself.  I will miss that paradox, but I am also freeing myself of it.

Jack will gain a nighttime ritual that will carry him through beyond his toddler years and into childhood.  One that will involve a lot of reading with his dad.  

Jack has a new favorite book- "Where's Spot?"  It's one of those square shaped board books and this one has flaps that open up revealing hidden pictures.  Jack takes great delight in opening up those flaps.  Trevor bought a bottle of Elmer's Glue for the times he gets a little too excited and rips one off.  After the 100th reading of this book we decided it was time to add to the nighttime reading collection.

Last night we took a trip to Barnes & Noble and TJ Maxx (TJ Maxx has some of the cheapest kids books in town fyi!).  We must have purchased 20 books between the two places.  I was looking at something on the shelf and heard Trevor say "Hey mom, can we get this one?"  I looked over and Jack was holding a book with two bears on the cover that said "I Love My Daddy."

I cannot express what my feelings were in that moment. 

I thought of the hundreds of nights that Trevor has so faithfully done the dishes and sorted the laundry so that Jack and I could nurse.  I recalled the thankfulness my heart felt every time I walked into the kitchen and saw all of my pump equipment drying on a bottle rack.  He never asked for praise or thanks for these great gifts.  He wasn't giving me clean bottles, he was giving me precious time with my baby.  Now it is my turn to give him that time.

Last night I curled up on the couch, a huge dinosaur stuffed animal as my pillow.  Trevor brought out "Where's Spot", "Spot Goes to the Park", and "Spot Says Goodnight".  I placed "I Love My Daddy" into the pile.  Trevor had nearly finished the "Daddy" book when Jack jumped out of his lap and into mine.  Just when Trevor was starting to feel rejected, we both realized that the only reason Jack came over to me was because "Where's Spot" was sitting on my lap.  Once the book was returned to Trevor, Jack climbed back into his lap.  

There were tears that first night weaning, tears and triumphs as all three of us committed to a new routine.  Jack won't ever remember these nights, but I hope that the closeness we've shared has cemented a feeling of security and love into his heart.

So where's Jack's spot?  It used to be on a pillow nursing with me.  Now it's nestled into his dad's lap reading stories as the still damp hair from his bath dries up and curls around his ears.  

Life is one long series of hellos and good-byes.  I think what matters the most is how you spend the time in between them.  For those nights we struggled, bonded, cried, and loved, I am exceedingly proud of both of us.

Good-bye to nursing.

Hello Spot.

Baby by Numbers

2 years ago you were a flicker on an ultrasound

2 pink lines on a stick

2 of us, dad + me, built you from all that we had, all that we had to give

1 part me

1 part him

1 whole you

1 dark, cold night brought you to me

7  hours of labor and there you were

2 years have come and gone and we've both changed so much

2 breasts have fed you for 

16 months

69 weeks

483 days

8 white teeth have burst forth like shiny buds in a soft pink soil

2 brown eyes that get bigger and wiser every day

2 feet make pap pap pap sounds as you run across the hardwood floor

10 long lean fingers delicately pinch at food laid out for you on a tray

1 mama sits in a dim room while

1 dad puts you in bed

10 fingers tap out a poem for

1 sweet boy

1 sweet boy

The Other Times Vol. 2

Over on the couch, Jack sleeps soundly, bundled up in a blanket next to his dad.  "Big Bang Theory" is on TV and the only other sound in the room (aside from Howard Wolowitz) is the soft hum of this laptop.  It's peaceful tonight.  But last night was a very different story.  For this is a tale of a virus, some yoga pants and the night I most likely flashed my neighbors.

Jack didn't have dinner last night.  Trevor and I commented on how his little daycare report card mentioned that he was very hungry all day so we shrugged off this little blip on the "our kid is totally normal and healthy" radar and went on with our night.  We bathed him, changed him into pajamas and Trevor said, "I'll take care of the dishes if you want to nurse him downstairs."  I suppose I should mention here that, oops, I have not yet completely weaned my son.  I knew there was something I forgot to do!  And since he hasn't yet learned how to tie a little napkin around his neck, walk up to me and unbutton my shirt, I'm still ok with nursing (especially considering my nipples are like titanium now).  So we nurse and it's a very peaceful way for both of us to end our day.

There we sat in our little nest, the dim light of a lamp creating a golden glow.  Why is life always so wonderful before it's so incredibly horrible?

I heard the garage door open and my sister Mary peeked down the basement stairs.  She had decided to pay us an impromptu visit for the night.

"Shhhhh.  Jack's sleeping."

He stirred in my lap and tossed and turned.  Mary AKA "Bean" quietly came down the stairs.  I looked down at Jack, something was coming out of his mouth.  My sister noticed also and said "Oh!  Jack's spitting up."  And then...oh then...

At this point, I would kindly ask you to open up a new window or tab in your browser and play this music for ultimate effect.  I can wait...

I saw Jack start to vomit on the pillow.  "AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"

This must have startled him because he turned his head toward me and a fire hose of puke came raining down on my chest, shoulder, arm and...oh, did I mention I was nursing at the time?

"BEAN!  BEAN!  HELP ME!"

Our Lady of the Most Excellent Timing or the Most Unfortunate Timing, depending on how you look at it, took Jack into our basement bathroom to wash him off as best as she could.  Meanwhile, I sat on the couch, paralyzed, arms outstretched like a scarecrow while pieces of banana? bread? apples? fell onto my lap and bounced onto the floor.  The pillow Jack had been laying on was completely drenched.  Trevor poked his head downstairs while Bean and I looked up at him.  "PUKE!!!"  He sighed.  A sigh that says "this night was going way too smoothly."

Trevor came downstairs to bring Jack to the bathtub.  I remember saying "Take him to the bath!!!  Babies never puke once!!!  Goonies never say die!!!!" (I didn't actually yell that last one, I just didn't want you to forget)

St. Mary of the Defiled Boppy took the pillow and placed it on a towel on the basement floor.  With all the gracefulness of a marionette, I attempted to rise from the couch with all of my pieces attached to me as to not create a bigger mess.  I threw my tank top onto the sloppy Boppy.  I walked into our kitchen with my arms folded over my chest (remember when I said I had been nursing?) and looked right out the kitchen window onto the street.  My head whipped over to the open curtains in the dining room and living room.

"BEAN!!  CLOSE THE CURTAINS!  QUICK!!"

She ran throughout the downstairs leaping over chairs to close the drapes for me so I could wrap my hands in paper towel mittens and clean up.  I ran into the bedroom and immediately disrobed only to find myself standing there naked with nothing to wear to go back out into the kitchen.  I spied a pair of yoga pants on the floor and pulled them on yanking them over my chest like so many grandpas on the beach with shorts pulled up to their collar bones.

I checked on my little family- Bean sitting on the toilet, Jack in the bath and Trevor kneeling next to the bath.  I did a little jig for them in my makeshift yoga pants jumpsuit and then went back to the basement and into the shower.

At this point, feel free to stop listening to Carmina Burana, the night got calmer from here...

The night ended much like it began.  The soft glow of the basement lamp, Jack sleeping softly, but this time in Trevor's arms with a plastic wastebasket at the ready, which he used...3 times.

The bug made it's way out of his little body over the course of the next day and 4 outfit changes later, his little body finally got a reprieve.  He never lost his smile or his happy spirit.  Throughout the whole ordeal, he only cried when it first happened.  I don't know how he does it, how he stays so happy in the face of such unspeakably smelly horror, but he does.

We learned a lot from our last Pukepocalypse and it showed in how few towels we lost and how we kept that trash can nearby.  Not that there weren't some rookie mistakes- never get naked without an exit strategy.  You won't always have pants that stretch up to your collar bones lying around.

Even in the other times, the times when you just want to cry, it's so calming to look at this little person who's confused as hell about what's going on, who just keeps smiling because to him it's all just some exciting new adventure.  It's also a new adventure for you, so you just keep smiling too.

There is magic in the peaceful times, the soft glow of a lamp, cuddling your baby to sleep.

But some of the funniest, most unbelievable memories lie in the other times.

My Boy

Trevor was the odd man out in our family for a year.  For one whole year it was all about me.  I was the comforter, the food source, the balm, the only one who could get Jack to sleep.  This is not to say that Trevor wasn't a very active and involved dad, but that first year is really about mamas and babies in many ways.

This week we were all playing in the backyard.  Me in my heels from work getting stuck in the mud while I followed Jack around the yard.  I spotted a lilac bush in the back of our house that I always forget about.  I went over to pick some blossoms and came back to show Jack.  And what did I find?  Trevor and Jack picking up sticks and Trevor showing Jack how to use the stick as a sword.  

"Jack, look at the pretty flowers!" 

Nothing

"Jack, aren't they pretty?"

Blink.  Blink.

Trevor started throwing sticks over the fence into our little wood pile.  Jack dutifully carried his over and poked it through the gap in the chain link to make his contribution.

I took my flowers inside and put them in a little vase on the windowsill- the odd one out.

I do not write this with a sad heart, I write this with a joyful heart.  My son and my husband are growing closer.  Soon, they will be sharing more adventures.  Jack starts swimming lessons on Saturday morning and Trevor will be right there in the pool with him, his strong arms holding him up.  (Is there anything better than a good father?)

It can be scary being the mom of a boy, thinking of the many ways that he will eventually leave me.  Will I have the same bond with him when he's an adult that I have with my mom?  Are there just certain things that only play out between a mother and a daughter or a father and a son?  And I think the answer is- yes!  But I guess that's true for all relationships.  I share special things with my brothers and special things with my sisters.  It doesn't make it bad, it's just different.

This morning, after Trevor and I tag-team changed and dressed him, Trevor held him and he started crying.  I took him and he hugged me- tightly!  He kept hugging me until it almost brought tears to my eyes.  This incredible act of affection was so meaningful to me in those last few moments before he leaves for daycare.  He left for daycare all smiles and Trevor texted me a photo just to prove to me that he was happy.  I sure do love that Trevor.

My grandfather used to tell stories of WWII and one in particular always stayed with me.  He recalled vividly hearing the cries of "mama! mama!" coming from wounded soldiers.  The mere thought of their mothers was a memory they always came back to and they cried out for them when they got scared or got injured.  In a very miniscule way, I got that this morning in that ferocious hug.

The world needs more strong, kind, and curious men.  I'm so glad this little soul chose Trevor and me to help see him into adulthood.

Two shadows stand against the sun

A father and his little one

And all the mother’s world held tight

In silhouettes of absent light

I Carry it in My Heart

"You can be a mom and work, I guess it all just depends on how much you love your kids."

Says the anonymous person commenting on the latest article designed to make my heart shrivel up inside me because I work outside of the home.

I sit at my desk on a break from lunch surrounded by photos in cheap plastic frames.

Jack on a walk

Trevor and I smiling at a wedding

Jack laughing on a blanket

Trevor and Jack at the beach

The 3 of us smiling on a blanket of fall leaves

I listlessly pick baby carrots from a sandwich bag staring at the screen remembering how I packed that lunch in the hour of quiet I get every night after Jack is asleep and Trevor is reading in bed.  I do a lot in that quiet hour so that I can enjoy all of the noisy, joyful hours of wakefulness I get with my family.

I wonder if that person knew that somewhere, someone would read that sentence and their words would break her heart.

The tap of their keys like gunshots designed purposefully? accidentally?  intentionally? unknowingly? to hurt so deeply?

In an instant, everything around me seems shallow and empty.  This tiny desk, these photos, this coffee, these carrots.

I close out of that page, that awful page and that awful article written by a man, no less, telling me that I secretly hate myself because I'm sitting here while other people raise my child.  Thank you little red "x" at the top of the page.  You did what you could to get rid of those thoughts, but yet, they linger into my day.

I don't have any answers for you who find yourself reading this.  I don't understand why the world, but especially women have begun a civil war on the complicated journey that is motherhood.  For decades we have joined together to fight the indignities heaped on us from men who didn't know better and now we know better and yet we still fight.

But what I do know is that I love my son with every fiber of myself.  I love how free-spirited and independent he is.  My guess is that he'd be this wonderful whether or not we shared every day together or not.  

But then again...

We do share every day together.  How can we not?  A full 1/2 of that little boy is me, an extension of me and an extension of Trevor.  When he hurts, I hurt.  When Miss Heather or Miss Sarah or Miss Andrea call me and tell me that he's sick, they can't even finish their sentence before my keys are in my hand and I'm shutting down my computer.

So to the men and women so set on breaking my heart and the hearts of every mother or father who works outside of the home- don't you ever, ever, ever tell me that my love for my son is compromised because I eat my baby carrots out of a sandwich bag instead of at home on the floor with my son.  And don't you ever, ever, ever assert that because I don't always occupy the same space he does, that it's the same thing as leaving him.  And to the men and women who don't think parents who stay at home with their children "work", try it for a week.

The children I worry for aren't the ones whose parents go to work every day or the ones who stay home.  The children I worry for are the ones who are growing up in homes filled with unrelenting judgment and anger.

My little family is turning out so well.  I just need to remind myself of that every now and then. 

i carry your heart with me(i carry it in

my heart)i am never without it(anywhere

i go you go,my dear;and whatever is done

by only me is your doing,my darling)

                                                      i fear

no fate(for you are my fate,my sweet)i want

no world(for beautiful you are my world,my true)

and it’s you are whatever a moon has always meant

and whatever a sun will always sing is you

here is the deepest secret nobody knows

(here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud

and the sky of the sky of a tree called life;which grows

higher than soul can hope or mind can hide)

and this is the wonder that's keeping the stars apart

i carry your heart(i carry it in my heart)

Tethered

Today I met a friend at a mom-to-mom sale at a church near our old college campus.  For those of you who don't know, a mom-to-mom sale is a large indoor rummage sale devoted to mom and baby stuff.  The scene involves moms digging through carefully arranged piles of baby clothes looking for a diamond in the rough.  There are a couple of dads who typically hang back, sometimes with babies strapped to them or listlessly pushing a stroller back and forth containing a sleeping baby and re-used grocery bags filled with treasures.

My friend and I came from different directions but both drove past campus on our way to the sale.  Mid-way through the sale, my friend commented about how sentimental she got driving past campus.  I told her I had the same thoughts.  Neither one of us wants to erase what we have.  We love our lives, our husbands and our babies with every inch of ourselves, but we both concluded that it would be nice to have a do-over for college.  To make more of the time we were given- study abroad, be more deliberate about the classes that we took (like taking life-enriching courses as opposed to only those that weren't scheduled at 8am or on Fridays).

I am the first to admit that I didn't exactly make the most out of college.  By my junior year, all dreams of heading to NYC for a career in theatre had all but vanished as I decided to set my sights on more practical endeavors.  It took me over 3 years after I graduated to set foot onstage again and for 5 straight years I performed in over a dozen productions trying so hard to make up for lost time.  Theatre brought me so many gifts- confidence, friendships, a husband.  So it was with mixed feelings that I recently turned down an opportunity to audition for a play.  There are so many reasons why:

- I'm not feeling mentally prepared for the time commitment

- Jack needs me

- Baby weight issues

- I doubt I could memorize anything right now

- I go to bed by 9:30

- I just don't want to

That last one scares me the most.  Because when I strip away all of those other excuses which are all things for which I could find support, I just don't want to be involved in theatre right now and sometimes I worry that I might be losing this piece of myself.

And that leads me to my conversation this morning.  I close my eyes and imagine that I'm standing in a vast field.  I am calm.  The sky stretches out for miles and the only sound is the nearly imperceptible whistle of the wind through the grass.  That is life before a child.

I close my eyes, I imagine me in that same field.  It's quiet.  Too quiet.  My eyes dart all around and I'm running, faster, faster, calling out "Hello?  Where are you?  I can't see you!"  

I am tethered.  

I was tethered physically for 9 months and for 13 months since then, I've been emotionally tethered.  I have spent time away from Jack since he was born,  but not for any extended periods of time, save the 9 hours I spend at work each day.  And despite the unpleasantness of the word "tether", I don't feel harmed by it.  A tether is a cord, fixture or signal that anchors something movable to a reference point which may be fixed or moving.  Jack is my movable object right now and I am his reference point and sometimes I feel very fixed.  We are mostly weaned, which helps us both gain some independence.  Jack nurses like most adults drink booze- only nights and weekends...and some mornings, but only if it's been a rough night.

Yes, sometimes I feel very fixed, like a stake in the yard and he's a little puppy yapping and chasing squirrels all around me.

But sometimes...more often than not... I see things this way.

Somewhere high above Earth, there is a space anchor, or ballast.  Let's call it Nancy, and a spacecraft, let's call it the Captain Jack Rigel and they float up there, held together by a tether.  In space, there is a technique called momentum exchange tethering where a rotating tether will grab a spacecraft and then release it at a later time.  Doing this can transfer momentum and energy from the tether to and from the spacecraft with very little loss.  And every day the anchor, along with her handsome anchor husband, transfers energy through that tether awaiting the spacecraft's inevitable release.

It's lonely being a space anchor.  It doesn't leave you much time for theatre, hobbies, friends, good books, long showers, nail polish, exercise, movies or TV.  And yes, as glorious as the physics of it is, there is some energy loss.  But over time that spacecraft gains energy, altitude, momentum, and independence as it prepares to take off on a long journey.  It's all possible because of that anchor who gives up its freedom for a little while.  

I look at Jack.  Our tether is quite short right now.  Our galaxy consists of the thousand or so square feet of our little house on the corner of our street.  In years to come, the tether will grow longer and longer until he gains the momentum he needs to fly.

Yes, it's hard being tethered sometimes.  But if I remember to open my eyes to see what we have, I gaze at our little world, I see the tether stretching and, meanwhile, all around us...

we have the most glorious view of the stars.

See that brightest star?  The left foot of Orion?  That's Rigel.