And Just Like That...
Moms, it's time to let them fly.
There are places for mental breakdowns. The car. The closet. The pantry. In your therapist’s office. But sitting next to your son while he’s getting dental work done? That was unexpected. First, let me say that my boys love going to the dentist. It’s super weird. I’m not sure if it’s the nostalgia of picking out the absolutely disgusting sticky hands from the goodie bag or the fact that they typically miss some school to go, but either way, it’s odd. I’m fairly confident this latest visit might have “cured” them of this fondness, as both had cavities, and my younger son was in the chair for 2.5 hours.
It’s funny when your kids are 17 and 15, as you’re still fulfilling your role as mother, but it’s more like spending time on the periphery. Your kids need you less and less, and you’re also preparing them to fly, so it’s a bit like walking a tightrope.
During this dental visit, I floated back and forth between the two rooms, gently rubbing their legs to let them know I was there. They would both look up and roll their eyes, but I could tell each was happy when I was in my corner seat.
At one point, I left my younger son and walked into the room where my very soon-to-be-18-year-old son was having his work done. The movie Frozen was playing on the ceiling TV, and he seemed engrossed. I almost laughed, but before I could, a wave of nostalgia hit me like a tsunami aimed directly at my heart. How did we get here? How did this giant man baby, with his size-11 Vans hanging over the dental chair, become an adult when I could swear that just yesterday, I was cheering him on in the holiday play from my chair in the preschool gymnasium? Wasn’t it just yesterday I was belly-laughing with him as we named the lizard missing a leg in our backyard “Gimp”? (Forgive us—our family thrives on dark humor). Wasn’t it just yesterday I was doing all the voices for the characters in his favorite baby books?
For years, this now-man-baby struggled with anxiety before going to school. In my family, we tend to pass the anxiety baton to an unknowing teammate without their consent or desire. “Here you go,” we say, though we’d do anything to avoid this ritual. Fortunately, my youngest son seems to be the lone person in a long line of worriers who has been able to rebuke this familial rite of passage (though he could probably stand to worry a bit more). Finn, my soon-to-be high school graduate, on the other hand, has inherited my incessant worrying along with my extreme lack of confidence. You’re welcome, buddy. Hey, at least we’re not cocky, amirite?
Because of these traits, I was not surprised when he initially said that he wanted to go to college close to home. A part of me was sad, as I wanted him to spread his wings, but I let him take the lead. A few months later, however, we were sitting in his counselor’s office, and somewhere in that time period, he’d decided he was ready to fly, but he hadn’t told me yet.
“I want to go away,” he said. “I don’t want to stay too close to home.”
Judas, the betrayal!
I kid, of course, and when he said it, I smiled, and he caught my eye and gave me an all-knowing grin. This kid was maturing at warp speed, and just in time, I might add. Our bond has thus far been unbreakable, and the lump that formed in my throat threatened to spill tears that would have summoned his hairy eyeball, so I forced them back.
Time is a motherf*cker, my friends. There’s no way around it. You surely remember a well-meaning older mom at Target, seeing you knee-deep in your kids’ requests for everything at eye-level (We know what you’re doing, marketers), the distinct smell of a dirty diaper that requires your attention, and a mom brain fart that has swallowed the PIN you need to enter on the keypad, when she says, “Soak it all in. This stage goes so fast.” You want to punch this woman directly in the thorax for two reasons:
YOU NEED HELP, not SELF-HELP!
You know somewhere in the deep recesses of your addled brain that she’s right, and you hate her for it.
As the saying goes, good parents give their children roots and wings, but no one thinks about the cold nests left behind, leaves still molded to their once-impossibly-tiny bodies. But if I’m to do what is best for you, it’s time to let you fly, my sweet boy. Just know your biggest fan will always welcome you home, and she’ll even make sure they play Frozen for you at the dentist.
For some reason, last year, I developed a visceral reaction to every mom’s post about graduation beginning with, “And just like that…” It was driving me nuts, if I’m being honest, but the truth is, there’s no other way to begin the news that your son is no longer a child. It really does happen in the blink of an eye, and just like that … you’re forced to let a part of your heart fly outside your body, hoping you’ve done everything you can to prepare him for life’s hilly path.
