So, I’m sneaking in a short post between packing, making lists for packing, and finishing up my parental Easter-prep duties. But I had a stunning realization this afternoon, and I just had to share.
I’m a mom. Wow. I know, right? That only took thirteen years, six months, and twenty-five days to figure out. I mean, yes, I’ve known all that time that I’m a mom, but seriously…I am responsible for three little beings. Who thought that was a good idea?
I was driving at the time I had this holy-crackers-batman moment, taking my three plus two of Big Man’s friends to the movie theater to take in Captain America. My three, plus two more, were in my care. I think it was just one of those moments of “How the heck did I get here? Wasn’t I just 13 myself?” But no, I’m not 13. I am a so-called mature adult, a mom of three kids.
The second thought that hit was, “I wonder what they think of me?” I mean, am I a cool mom? Or am I just mom? Will they be gentle on me when speaking of me with their therapists when they’re in their 30’s and 40’s?
They’re mine. They came out of me. I grew them. I’m half of them. When you really think about that, it’s insane. I do believe the fact we started researching high schools for Big Man has affected me. You have babies, they grow up. They, with God’s grace, become adults. He will soon be taller than me. We are in that weird part of parenting where you are still the parent, but they are working on independence and becoming young adults. The core values have been instilled. Traditions have been set. Expectations are in place. Family routine is routine. We are on the cusp of a shift, a change. I’m excited for it, but I’m also terrified of it.
Big Man sat with his friends in a different part of the theater today. It struck me he’s really going to have his own life, of which I will play a smaller and smaller role. They will pull away over the next few years. While I am relieved they don’t need as much as they did a few years back, I am sad their need for me will grow even less soon.