Ok, technically, I could probably have said that when Boy #1 turned 18 or maybe even 19 when he moved away to college. But for some reason, taking the “teen” part out of his age makes it seem like a way bigger deal. Like I can no longer pretend that he’s still a kid. No longer can I squint my eyes when I look at him and for a split second think I’m looking at that dimple-cheeked 4-year-old or even that tween with the skater bangs and Heelys. Instead, now when I look at him through squinty eyes, like I used to look at things I was scared of when I was little (and still do, if truth be told), I see a grown man who will all too soon be looking at his own children through squinty eyes, never wanting to forget even one little detail about how they looked when they were little.
Just what exactly does this mean for me–being “the mom of a man”? I’m really not sure. Do you ever see your son as truly “a man” instead of your “little boy”? I really don’t think, even if I am lucky enough to still be around when he is 60, that I will see him any differently than I have for the past 20 years. Every man is still some mom’s boy, no matter how many years he’s been so.
Even though part of me is sad, and maybe even a little bit mad, that those two decades went by so fast, another part of me is proud to watch this person that I made go out and be a man in the world. It’s truly a privilege to see his life unfold.
But if I’m being honest, I have to admit that I’m also relieved that I have a few more years to still be a “mom of boys,” too.