Parenting
Forever My Little One by Jenna Lawson
Updated: July 30, 2019
Originally Published: Aug. 15, 2014
Just last week, my 21-year-old son, Jake, strolled into the kitchen and asked if I could lend a hand in making a cup of coffee. Now, if you’re familiar with those fancy Keurig machines, like my own, you know they’re pretty user-friendly. Just pop open the lid, insert the K-cup, pick your cup size, and hit “Brew.” Simple enough, right?
But here’s the thing—Jake is my firstborn. He was the lucky one who had a young, eager mom who happily laid out his clothes every night, trimmed his sandwich crusts, and even peeled his apples. These days, I’m more likely to forget to buy apples altogether.
I nearly chuckled when he asked for coffee help, but then I noticed him plopping down with his iPhone. It hit me: he didn’t want to learn how to make coffee; he just wanted me to do it for him.
“Alright,” I said, “just walk over to the machine and open it up.” I guided him through the process, and before long, he was savoring a steaming cup of joe.
Not long after, his 11-year-old brother, Max, came into the kitchen and whipped up an omelet. He heated a pan, cracked an egg, added some extra egg whites, sprayed the pan with cooking spray, and cooked himself breakfast. He drenched the omelet in hot sauce and sat down to watch Drake and Josh while enjoying hot chocolate made from the Keurig.
The contrast between my first and fourth child always fascinates me. It’s incredible how the younger ones thrive on the neglect that their oldest sibling endured—how much my hovering stunted Jake’s desire to do things independently, even though he’s perfectly capable.
In fact, he showed me just how capable he is when I dropped him off to catch the bus for a summer internship an hour away. This gig required business-casual attire and adult-like behavior. Seeing him at the counter pouring a bowl of cereal took my breath away; I was looking at a grown man.
Of course, there was some hand-holding leading up to his first day. We shopped for “big boy” clothes, got his monthly bus pass, and even did a practice run to find a commuter lot where he could park for free. Reading the bus schedule was a bit challenging, but hey, he’s never had to navigate this before. His younger siblings have always benefited from his experiences—everything from learning an instrument to applying to college. He’s been their trailblazer.
So, watching him step out of my car that morning, heading toward the crowd waiting for the bus, felt surreal. Part of me wanted to jump out and ensure he was boarding the right one, but I held back and drove away, watching his new jacket fade from view in the rearview mirror.
He texted me later to say he was on the bus and on his way (thumbs-up emoji). “Thanks for the ride and everything else, Mom,” he wrote (lovey and heart emojis). I knew he meant it. We might butt heads often, but he knows I’m always in his corner.
There’s a delicate balance between being a helicopter parent and just being supportive. I hope I’m leaning toward the latter. By the time little Max ventures into the world in a decade, he’ll have seen his three older siblings navigate these experiences, meaning less hand-holding will be necessary.
But I’m getting ahead of myself. After this morning, I’m grateful to still have my little boy. He still wraps his arms around my waist for no reason, sings Maroon 5 at the top of his lungs in the shower, and occasionally forgets to use shampoo.
Time flies. One minute, you’re handing your kid a Gatorade, and the next, it’s a commuter mug. People often say this, and when you’re deep in the trenches of carpooling and chicken nuggets, it feels endless. Then suddenly, you find yourself wondering, “What the heck just happened?”
All I know is I can’t wait to pick him up from the bus later and hear all about his day over dinner. He may have traded his skater gear for khakis and a dress shirt, but he’ll always be my baby.
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Summary: A mother reflects on the differences in parenting her firstborn and youngest child, showcasing how life changes as children grow. She shares humorous moments and the bittersweet realization that time flies, while also expressing pride in her children’s development into independent individuals.