Two weeks ago, my baby turned 18. The law says he's an adult -- he can vote and sign contracts, and when it comes to his medical and legal privacy the fact that I am his mother gives me absolutely no rights at all. A card came in the mail the other day reminding him to register for the Selective Service. He has already registered to vote.
When his older brother reached these same milestones I wrote "Eighteen is an arbitrary line... It is hardly a finite line...But it is a bright and important one." I was writing proscriptively then -- guessing, assuming, wondering, what it would be like to cross over into a new role for both of us. Now that Alex has gotten here too, I've had a taste of how reality compared to expectation.
Here is what I know:
You are bigger than I am.
And way stronger than I am, and you do a spectacular impression of someone who is ready to face the world -- but every once in a while you will let me see glimpses of the imp with the Dutch boy haircut who needs me.
"Going off to college" is not the dramatic change in our relationship that I thought it would be.
The real Before and After has happened already -- when you got your driver's license last year. I remember the day you learned to crawl -- your utter joy that now YOU had a say in where you went in your world. A car magnifies your independence; I no longer have to factor you into the logistical equation of our day. You now navigate, literally and metaphorically, on your own.
I will not stop worrying about you; I will just have to learn to do a better job of keeping it to myself.
That, in a sentence, is the parenting contract. Since the day you were born I have carried you in my head -- a part of my consciousness always wondering what you are thinking, how you are feeling, where you are. It's not always front and center, but it is always -- will always be -- there.
I thought I was deciding to have a baby 18-years-ago, but now I understand that I was really deciding to have an adult.
An adult who I like as well as love, whose advice I value, whose company I relish, who makes me laugh more deeply than anyone I know.
And that has been the purpose all along, no? Not the first 18 years (which is what all the how-to parenting books are about) but everything that comes after. Not the hands-on part, but the letting go.
When I look at you I will always see past, present and future. The baby that you were, yes. But also the wonder that you now are, and the extraordinary man you will continue to become.
Follow Lisa Belkin on Twitter: www.twitter.com/lisabelkin
Thumbs up for highlighting the idea that what we're actually hoping for is good kids down the line. Growing up takes decades. Time to stop being bent out of shape because of a poor grade, a second string position or a particular college rejection. Success isn't measured at the end of the semester, it's measured some two decades (sometimes three) down the line when our children become adults. What once seemed like life and death disappointments, failures and injustices pale when we are fortunate enough to see our children become kind, resilient and capable adults.
Three weeks later I still missed him terribly but I realized I had successfully launched a young adult into the world and the rest was up to him.
And OMG, the peace! The quiet! Nirvana.
Oh, his Dutch Boy Haircut! It was my favorite hair in all the first grades- forever and always!
Good luck at college- we are sad you didn't choose The University of Michigan. (There is still time to change your mind. Airport drop-offs, baby-sitting, and dog-sitting opportunities are available!)
And Happy Mother's Day.
"Mrs. R"
It's funny--when they're 18, they know everything; but as they get older, they appreciate their mom's love and advice much more.
Happy Mother's Day!
My son, all 6'2", 200 pounds was dressed in a wonderful tuxedo, had the corsage all ready for his date, was nervous (I could tell because he couldn't answer any question in a coherent manner) and I just broke down and cried as I took pictures of him, then he and his date and then 2 of us together.
My little boy who needed me all the time is no longer needing me for boo-boos and nightmares. He's becoming a man and I resent it. I want that unconditional love, that running from the bus stop waiting to hug and kiss me little boy.
Had I known what rearing a child was like, I would have had in vitro done or surrogacy and had more children. He's in bed now, having come home at 5 a.m. He soon has to get up, go to his job and I'll still be thinking about the extraordinarily handsome 'man' I saw in our living room. Where has time gone?