I have been super emotional lately. I’m chalking it up to stress and lack of good sleep, but it also could be that I’m just getting old. I can, by just thinking about it, make myself weep. Here’s what I mean….
I was driving to pick up lunch for the Princess as it’s parents’ day at lunch at her school (read: parents bring their kids lunch from “outside”, for which their kids might actually sit down with their parents at the lunch tables for five minutes, and then bolt as soon as they’re done eating), when some country song came on about a daddy loving his daughter first. You guessed it, within three bars, I was wiping tears from my eyes.
I posted a picture of the Princess from this past recital on my Facebook page for #WorldBalletDay yesterday. I sat there looking at it, and, again, wiping tears from my eyes. Two days ago, I was talking with someone about her being Clara in her studio’s Nutcracker production this year. I started crying just thinking about watching her dance the role.
My kids are growing up. In five years, two of the three will be out the door to college. They’re independent – granted I still have to hound them about chores, laundry, cleaning up after themselves, and homework. But they feed themselves, we can leave them home alone for a few hours at a time, heck one of them is a year away from having his driver’s license! And this is what does me in.
I spent years wanting them to be less dependent. Babies and toddlers are exhausting. Then you hit the full-on “big kid” status, and your days are consumed with carpools, drop-offs, pick-ups, birthday parties, playdates, extra-curricular activities. Years speed by. Now we’re close to sending them off on their own, letting them spread their wings, and life will never be the same again. They will grow up, maybe get married, maybe have kids of their own. It’ll be different. They won’t need the way they need now.
There are moments I look at them and think, “Wow, you’re really mine. You really came from me. I’m really your mom.” I don’t feel old enough to be mom to teenagers, although the calendar and mirror will tell me differently. I keep waiting for someone to point out I’m a fake and a fraud – good golly, how could anyone let me have responsibility for three little beings? They are mine, and I am old enough. I am their mom, no matter how surreal that may seem at times. And they are growing up, too quickly. We will never be exactly here again, and that thought makes me weep.