In the weak sunlight this afternoon, I wrapped my coat around me and watched as my children played with their friends at the park. I stood chatting with an old friend, while our children scampered up and down play equipment, explored the grass and sand and became increasingly filthy. My eyes roamed lazily over the scene, taking casual note of the whereabouts of not only my children, but my friends. I turned my face skyward, enjoying the feel of sun, even as the wind carried a sharp, cold note.

"Hey, Mommy! Look at me!" I scanned the area, and discovered my three-year-old daughter and my friend's two-year-old son were jumping on top of a picnic table, dancing with abandon.

"Be careful!" I offered, making no move to reign them in. My friend looked at me sideways, and then settled back down. "No jumping!" she shouted. We watched as the two of them scampered off the table and back to the sand. In that moment, I felt a subtle shift in the universe.

My oldest daughter was never more than a swift step away from me. She played, I hovered. She toddled, I matched my steps to hers, hands at the ready, in case she stumbled. I could have saved myself a huge backache, because she rarely stumbled. When she did, it was with the grace and good humor of a circus clown. I was so proud, yet certain that if I let her explore outside my own comfort radius, unspecified Bad Things were sure to befall her.

With the birth of my son, I still maintained an iron perimeter. I carried my son constantly in his sling as I chased after my 17-month-old firstborn. I was baffled by parents that 'knew' that their children would never run into the street, would never decide to leap off a 6-foot play structure, who understood that they could speak a word of caution, and it would be heeded by their tiny charge. They, in turn, were baffled by my inablility to get my children under control.

I couldn't trust. I didn't believe. I saw the magpie in my daughter - a promising flash, a glimpse of sparkle, and she would throw herself headlong into traffic, hands grasping for a metallic gum wrapper or bottle cap. She had no fear, and trusted her body to deliver the goods. I, on the other hand, felt like I was on constant death watch. My solution was to keep her as close to me as possible, at all times.

My son also displayed a lack of judgement, and a decided bent towards mischief from the moment he began to crawl. Hiding is his specialty, along with selective listening. I've had a few heart-stopping moments with this boy of mine, disappearing in plain sight, refusing to respond as I grow increasingly hysterical.

I was rearranging my closet today, and stumbled upon the box of keepsakes I have for each child. Tiny outfits, special blankets, shoes whose soles never supported weight. The album from my oldest's first birthday was in the box, and I flipped through the pages. I was so young. So young. And so right in her face. Every picture, I'm hovering. It took my breath away, seeing how earnest I was, how hard I was trying.

For years, i've been the mother at the park who never sat down. I've been the mother hovering over a toddler, chasing a preschooler, insisting that's high enough young lady get down right now before you break your neck. For years, I've waved mutely at the other mothers, while I stood ankle-deep in sand and tried to maintain the death watch on three separate children.

Today, I watched as my children played with ease and skill. I watched as they leaped into the sand, and danced on tables, my hands relaxed in my lap. Like the tiny outfits packed away in boxes, some of my fear was put away today.

It feels...weird.