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I’ve always been a bit of a control enthusiast, never opting for bottle feeding and instead choosing to keep my little ones latched onto me like they were physically glued. I took pride in those chaotic days, wandering around with milk stains on my shirt, barely able to keep my eyes open, with kids draped all over me. I didn’t want any help, embracing the martyr role while spending endless hours rocking, soothing, and carrying a child on my hip or in my lap.
As they grew older, I often found myself reminiscing about the past—yearning for when my oldest was just 3, or when my middle child was still a baby, before they started zipping around the house instead of lounging comfortably in my arms. I worried they were growing up too fast. I was the quintessential smother mother, thriving on those sleepless nights, and strangely enjoying it.
But now, as my boys—Jack, Leo, and Sam—are 14, 11, and 8, I have undergone a transformation. They are in high school, middle school, and third grade, and while they still need me for many things, my expectations have changed. When they don’t step up, I’m no longer the sweet, loving mama; I’ve morphed into the cranky nagging mom.
“Get moving!” I’ll shout when it’s shower time and they’re still lounging around. “Clean up your mess!” and “Do it yourself!” have become staples of my vocabulary. No more sugarcoating—my patience has run thin.
It might sound a bit selfish, but I’ve turned a corner. It’s time to focus on me again, and I’m fully embracing this new phase of life. I’m diving into writing and loving every minute of it. However, like any job, it demands time and attention, and if I’m busy nagging, I’m not sitting in my cozy chair at my computer, making magic happen.
I’ve realized I no longer want them clinging to me (though a good hug is always welcome). I want them to be more self-sufficient so I can reclaim some independence myself. There’s a part of me that feels guilty when I think of how emotional I got when Jack gave up his stuffed animals or when Sam went to school without shedding a tear for me. But I’ve changed. The mom who used to host every playdate because she wanted her kids close now relishes the fact that they can play happily at a friend’s house without her hovering. I used to crave their need for me; nowadays, there are days when I just want to be left alone, focusing solely on myself.
I know there will come a time, probably sooner than I think, when my boys aren’t always around, and I’ll miss the little things—like making them breakfast or picking them up from a friend’s house. I’ll reminisce about how fortunate I was to be so present in their lives.
But for now, I really just want them to pick up their mess.
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