It happened in an instant.
The first six weeks of his life felt like an eternity, filled with relentless effort, sweat, and an overwhelming rush of emotions, all heightened by the struggles of sleepless nights. When I leaned over him at his first birthday celebration, my partner by my side as we blew out the candles on his Elmo-themed cake, I realized I had transformed into a different person. He had blossomed into a little boy, full of curiosity and energy, captivated by balls, tunnels, and swings.
As the years rolled on, some felt slow while others zipped by. His little legs grew stronger, his baby cheeks lost their roundness, and his hair became thick and tousled. Baby teeth fell out, replaced by a set of impressively straight adult teeth. He was no longer just my baby; he was becoming a real boy.
I have to confess something. Amidst the chaos of laundry, sports practices, robotics competitions, and math assignments, I lost track of time. I understood that childhood would fly by, yet I forgot, even if just for a moment, that once those moments were gone, they would never return. I overlooked the unique grief that accompanies parenthood: the bittersweet feeling of gratitude for our children’s growth, mixed with the heartache of losing a piece of their childhood with every passing year.
It honestly felt like it happened overnight. A few months ago, my firstborn was still my little boy, but now he’s entered the phase of adolescence. He has started staying up later and sleeping in, seeking solitude for reading, playing video games, and simply being himself. He sometimes prepares his own meals and spends more time at school or practice than at home. Although he still finds time to say good morning and goodnight, he has truly stepped into a new realm.
And it really did happen just like that: as if all the days and years prior had vanished in a flash. Now, he towers over me, full of secrets, dreams, hopes, and fears that I can only guess at since he keeps them to himself. He’s all angles and limbs, and our hugs, while still meaningful, have become a bit awkward as he navigates this new stage of life.
From the moment you become a mother, you know that someday, you will need to let that baby go. You understand that they’re not yours to keep forever. If you do your job right, you’ll eventually become obsolete. That’s the goal, the aim of parenting.
What no one warned me about was that the letting go starts much earlier than expected. I thought I had time. I believed there would be enough moments to look back on and feel a sense of completion. Instead, I find myself feeling a bit panicked. He feels like sand slipping through my fingers. I keep reaching out, hoping he’ll look back, but he’s eager to move forward on those long legs that leave me bewildered. I remind myself that he’s still my boy, still my baby, but he now belongs to the world, and I must begin to let him do just that.
Thirteen, please be gentle with me. I’m striving to be a good mom, trying not to hover or hold him back. I’m squeezing my eyes shut and turning my head, hoping he will navigate this journey safely, knowing I can’t always be there to rescue him. It’s a challenging part of motherhood: the acceptance that I must let him go, knowing I can’t shield him from heartache or failure, and doing so with as much grace as I can muster.
I feel like I’m on a roller coaster, racing down the steepest slope where the wind steals my breath away. I want to laugh, but I can’t catch my breath long enough to enjoy it. My instinct is to cling on tightly, yet I hope to be brave enough to let my hands fly up and embrace the ride ahead. I hope he can too.
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In summary, as our children grow, we experience a blend of joy and sorrow, navigating the bittersweet journey of letting them find their own paths while cherishing the memories we build along the way.