Kids! Mothers’ Day barely past and already they’ve flown the
coop. After all my worrying. And fretting about them getting enough to eat. And
doing my best to keep them safe from harm. And what do they do? Take off!
Without a single thought! How can they do this to me?
What’s that? You’re asking, “What kids? You don’t have kids,
Lesley!”
That’s true.
I’m talking about the
Robin triplets. About a month ago their mom built a nest at the top of the ivy
that climbs the wall near our front door next to the driveway. I’ve been stressed
out ever since she moved in. First I fretted about disturbing her as we went in
and out, back and forth. Then I worried about the nest. Was it in a good spot
to prevent nasty intruders like Starlings or squirrels? Was it secure enough up
there at the top of the vines? What if it toppled? What if the eggs fell out?
What if the baby birds fell out –oh, my, that would be terrible! I lined a
bushel basket with leaves and placed it under the nest to soften any potential tumbles.
I watched every day to see if the orange vees of their beaks were stretching up
to gobble worms that their mom brought home. I’d time my trips to the car so
that I wouldn’t interrupt her delivery schedule. I had the wild bird rescue place
on speed dial.
These sudden outbursts of maternal instinct always catch me
by surprise. I spent my reproductive years undersupplied with the requisite
nurturing drive, feeling rather ambivalent about motherhood, if not downright
fearful. My biological clock didn’t strike the eleventh hour until I was closing
in on 40, getting perilously close to peri-menopause. Suffice to say, it just
never happened.
But spring has a curious way of awakening those motherly
impulses. The “Aw, they’re so cute!” season of baby birds and bunnies turns me
into an over-wrought, anxious, surrogate mom to our backyard creatures, great
and small.
The Robin trio got bigger by the day. They began to flutter
their wings and shove each other to get better access to the worm delivery.
They started acting like teenagers demanding the car keys. Their chirps took on
sullen tones.
On Sunday, I was about to step out onto the front steps to
see if it was safe to run to my car. Before I opened the door, through the
sidelight window, I spotted a baby Robin perched on the railing, kind of
teetering there trying to find his balance, clinging by his toes. I called Ken
to come see, “Look! They’ve started flight training!”
My next thought was, “O.K., now what do I do? What if he
falls off that railing? What if he gets stuck there all day and Riley goes out
and gobbles him right up? I can’t stand here all day! Where is his mother!?!
What was she thinking, letting him out before he’s barely got any feathers? He's only a BABY!!!”
In a flash, the little guy lifted his wings and launched
himself high up onto a tree branch. I haven’t seen him or his sibs since. The
nest seems so bare.
Times like these, I wonder how you moms out there who are raising human kids do it. I would have been a nervous wreck.
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