Updated: November 20, 2019
Originally Published: May 28, 2016
It happened in an instant.
The first six weeks of my son’s existence felt like a lifetime, filled with ceaseless effort, exhaustion, and an emotional rollercoaster fueled by sleep deprivation. By the time I leaned over him at his first birthday celebration, my partner Jake by my side, and blew out the candles on his colorful cake, I was no longer the same individual I had been a year prior. He was transformed too—a lively toddler captivated by balls, tunnels, and swings.
As the years progressed, some passed slowly while others seemed to fly by. His limbs grew longer, his baby cheeks gradually gave way to defined cheekbones, and his hair thickened. The little teeth he once had fell out, making way for a set of impressively straight adult teeth. He was no longer just a baby; he had blossomed into a real boy.
I must confess that amidst the chaos of laundry, sports commitments, robotics competitions, and math assignments, I lost sight of something vital. I was aware that time would slip away quickly, yet I forgot, even if just for a moment, that once these years were behind us, they would be lost forever. There is a unique sorrow that parents experience: the simultaneous gratitude for their children’s growth and the poignant realization of the moments that are irretrievably gone.
It feels as if the transition happened overnight. Though my eldest moved into his tween years a while back, he still felt like my child until recently. In the past few months, however, something shifted. He began staying up late, tossing and turning, only to sleep in later, drained. He craved more independence, spending hours in his room reading, gaming, and pursuing his interests. He even started preparing his own meals. While he still seeks me out for morning hugs or goodnight kisses, he has undeniably stepped into a new realm.
Indeed, it happened just like that—almost as if the years blurred by in a flash. Now he towers over me, carrying his own dreams and worries that I can only speculate about, as he keeps them to himself. He’s all angles and limbs, and our embraces have become elongated yet somewhat awkward, thanks to his growing frame.
From the moment you become a parent, you understand that the day will come when you must release that baby into the world. They are not yours to keep forever; the goal is to guide them toward independence. What I didn’t realize was how early this letting go begins. I thought I had more time, more moments to accumulate that would make the experience feel complete. Instead, I find myself in a state of mild panic. He feels elusive, like grains of sand slipping through my fingers. I want to reach out, to call him back, but naturally, he wants to forge ahead on those long legs that now feel foreign to me. This is it. He’s still my boy, my baby, yet he belongs to himself and the world.
Thirteen, please be gentle with me. I’m striving to be a supportive mom, resisting the urge to hover or hold him back. I close my eyes and turn away, hoping he will navigate this journey safely, knowing I can’t shield him from heartache. This is the most challenging aspect of motherhood: accepting that I must let him explore life’s ups and downs, and doing so with all the grace I can muster.
It’s like riding the steepest part of a roller coaster—the wind knocks the breath from my lungs, and I want to laugh, though I can’t catch my breath. My instinct is to hold on tightly, but I hope I can muster the courage to raise my arms and embrace the ride ahead. I hope he can too.
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