They will forever be your baby. It’s simply unavoidable. No matter how old your kids become, they will always be little in your eyes. They might insist on adult treatment during their teenage years and again as they step into adulthood, proudly proclaiming their age and their quest for independence. But to you, they will always be that tiny, fragile being, with their innocent coos and giggles echoing in your mind. It’s a peculiar kind of parental denial we all share; we know they grow up, but the heart just refuses to let go.
I remember yearning for freedom as a teenager and even more so during my college years. I felt so far from being a child—why did my parents still treat me like one? I was 18, a true adult! I wanted my mom to see that. Yet, despite my protests, she still often treated me with the care reserved for a child. I couldn’t grasp why, feeling suffocated by her worry about my whereabouts and activities. “Let go already, Mom,” I thought. “I’m not a child anymore!”
I’d repeatedly ask, “Mom, why do you still see me as a child?” Her answer was always the same: “I know you’re not. Truly, I do. But in my heart, you’ll always be my little girl. One day, you’ll understand.”
Not long ago, I was texting my son, now in college. This was how we communicated, and I had accepted that texting was his way of connecting. It took a lot of self-restraint to step back from his life and let him navigate it, but I knew I had to. He casually mentioned he had gone off campus recently. My heart sank. He was fine, but my mind raced with questions. “Did you go alone? How did you get there?”
“Mom, I’m fine! A group of us took an Uber. No big deal,” he reassured me. Yet all I could picture was my little boy, vulnerable and alone on a busy street at dusk. I still saw him as that small child, not an adult venturing into the world.
In that moment, I wanted to reach out to my own mother. I finally understood her perspective. When I say I’m heading to the store late at night, she still warns me to “be careful and park close.” She doesn’t see a 44-year-old woman; she sees her spunky 9-year-old daughter, twirling through the parking lot. When I share my struggles, she urges me to rest and take care of myself, still viewing me as that small sad girl needing her mom’s care.
Mom, you were right all along. No matter how much my kids grow, no matter how tall they stand or how far they roam, they will always be my little boys. They may reach the ages of 18, 28, or even 58, but in my heart, they will always be those sweet 8-year-olds. They might have families of their own, but they will always be my babies.
It’s just how mothers are wired.
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Summary:
As children grow up, parents often continue to see them as their little ones, regardless of their age. This piece captures the essence of that sentiment, reflecting on personal experiences and the universal struggle of letting go. It highlights the enduring bond between mothers and their children, illustrating how love transcends age.