It happened in an instant.
The first six weeks of my son’s life felt like an eternity. Each moment was packed with effort, sweat, and the emotional intensity that comes with sleep deprivation. By the time I leaned over him at his first birthday celebration, with my partner by my side, and we blew out the candles on his colorful cake, I realized I had transformed. He had grown from a tiny infant into a lively toddler, captivated by balls, tunnels, and swings.
As the years rolled on, some felt like they dragged while others zipped by in a blur. His legs grew long, his cherubic cheeks gave way to defined cheekbones, and his hair thickened. Baby teeth fell out, making room for a set of impressively straight adult teeth. He was no longer just a baby; he had become a real boy.
I must confess something. Amidst the chaos of laundry, sports schedules, and homework, I lost track of time. I understood the years would fly by, yet I somehow overlooked the truth that each moment is fleeting and irretrievable. I forgot, if only for a while, that parents endure a unique grief: we’re grateful our children are growing and healthy, yet we mourn the passing of each stage of their childhood.
I swear it truly seemed to happen overnight. Although my son entered his tween years a little while ago, he was still my little boy until recently. In the past few months, however, a shift occurred. He began staying up late, restless, and sleeping in later, exhausted. He seeks more privacy, spending time in his room to read or play video games. He prepares his own meals when he feels hungry, often at school or practice instead of home. He still comes to say hello, but he has ventured into a new phase of life.
It feels like all the past days, weeks, and years have vanished or sped by in a dazzling CGI effect. Suddenly, he towers over me, full of aspirations, dreams, and uncertainties that I can only guess at. Our hugs have transformed; they’re lengthy yet awkward, with his long arms unsure of how to embrace me.
From the moment you become a mother, you know that one day you must let your child go. You realize they are not yours to keep forever. If you do your job correctly, you become obsolete. That’s the goal. However, nobody warned me about how early the process of letting go begins. I had assumed I had time, that there would be enough moments so that when added together, I would feel a sense of completeness. Instead, I find myself a bit anxious. He feels slippery like sand slipping through my fingers. I keep nudging him, hoping he’ll look back, but he’s eager to stride forward on those long legs that bewilder me. I remind myself that he’s still my boy, but he now belongs to himself and the world. I must start letting him be free, bit by bit, unraveling the seams of our connection.
Thirteen, please be gentle with me. I’m striving to be a supportive mom, resisting the urge to hover or hold him back. I’m closing my eyes and turning my head, hoping he’ll navigate the inevitable ups and downs of life, knowing I can’t always be there to rescue him. This is the hardest part of motherhood: understanding that I must let go, knowing I can’t shield him from heartache or failure, and accepting that with whatever grace I can gather.
I feel like I’m on a fast downward roller coaster, where the wind steals my breath away. I want to laugh, but I can’t seem to catch my breath. My instinct is to cling on for dear life, yet I hope I have the courage to throw my hands up and embrace the ride ahead. I hope he can too.
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In conclusion, as our children grow, we must learn to balance our emotions of pride and loss. Each phase of childhood is precious, and while we must let go, we can cherish the memories we’ve created together.
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