Dear Alex, my firstborn,
Here we are, you teetering between boyhood and manhood, while I observe with a keen eye. This journey is tough—perhaps even more so for me than for you. If I’m being truthful, one of the most incredible aspects of being your mother has been simply being present and not taking the reins for you.
As my first child, we have the privilege of sharing many experiences together. It’s nothing like that first night I brought you home, desperately trying to nurse you while we both fumbled through it, clueless. Or that moment when you fell and scraped your knee for the first time—I’ve never run faster in my life.
We navigated those initial challenges with minimal chaos, finding our rhythm until life shifted again, leading us to face new experiences together, our hearts and hands intertwined.
I genuinely miss the times I could physically do things for you, despite feeling overwhelmed by your complete reliance on me. I could easily say no and hold your hand when you tried to dart ahead. With baby gates and a firm tone, I could keep you safe from harm. But this—this stage is all-consuming. Some days, it feels like I’m gasping for air. I want the world for you, yet it takes every ounce of self-control not to live your life for you, to not shadow your every move, to not intervene when you stumble or make choices that I don’t agree with.
You will trip, you will fail, and yes, you might make some poor choices that feel catastrophic at the moment—everyone does at some point. I have to allow you to navigate these experiences, and while I hold my breath, I’ll step back and let you.
You’re at an age where I must trust you. I can’t be by your side all the time, nor will I always be aware of your actions (as much as I wish to). This is a hard truth for me to accept.
I’ll always be here for you, though perhaps not physically by your side. I won’t always be able to pick you up when you fall; you will need to find your own strength. I cannot fix your mistakes; it’s vital that you take ownership of them and learn from them.
My role isn’t to make your life seamless by shielding you from difficulties; it’s to support, guide, cheer, and love you unconditionally. And I do love you, immensely. It’s my duty to prepare you with the confidence and courage necessary for the world, which means gradually allowing you more freedom. You will never learn to soar if I keep you cooped up in the nest (as tempting as that is).
You will always know what’s expected of you, and I will make sure you feel cherished and supported—like confetti thrown in celebration. But I simply cannot live your life for you. This is your unique journey, your time, your experience.
I apologize that you must face this challenge with me. I wish I had all the answers. I know both of us will stumble along the way, but that’s perfectly normal.
Now, go out there and embrace your life. Move ahead of me, and know that I will do my best to let you.
With love,
Mom
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Summary:
In this heartfelt letter to her firstborn, a mother reflects on the transition from nurturing her child to allowing him the freedom to make his own choices. She expresses the challenges of stepping back and the importance of letting him learn from his experiences, emphasizing love, support, and the necessity of independence.
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