Ready to go.
My baby boy is moving out today and I am torn between celebrating this milestone or tackling him to the ground and begging him not to leave. It could go either way and this is hard. It feels so much different from leaving for school. It is much, much bigger. This is not a move he has to make but a move he wants to make. Please do not think I am not proud of him because I am. I am very, very proud of him. For one he is busting out of the compound and that has not happened since 1990 when the Saint’s sister made a run for the border. And during his darkest days I don’t think he could see himself being this happy so who am I to blockade the door and never let him out? I am so proud of him but it hurts. It hurts big.
I love this photo.
He is so excited and so sure of what he is doing. How can be so sure when my heart is racing with all the uncertainties? Who is going to buy the cereal he likes? Who is going to make sure there is Almond Milk in the fridge? Who is going to remind him of his appointments? Does he even know what laundry detergent I use because he does not like fragrance? Who is going to ask him 100 times a day if he is ok and does he need anything? And most importantly, who is going to walk by his bedroom door every night and silently say in her head the nighttime prayer he learned as a little boy. Oh! My! God! He loves candles. Who is going to make sure he blows out the candles? I can not breathe.
I like to believe he is thinking about his love for his Mother in this photo.(I am not rational when it comes to my children).
I think a little part of me (ok a huge part of me) hopes that once he is gone he realizes how much he does need me. I never pretended to be rational when it comes to my kids. I WANT them to need me. It has been so long since he has needed me to do the most basic things for him like tie his shoes and make pancakes that I want him to acknowledge that is some small (laundry detergent brand) way he still needs his Mommy. I look forward to those texts (he never calls) .They will be small tangible proof that he still needs me. So today I am going to put on my big girl panties, plaster a smile on my face and help my baby boy spread his gorgeous wings and fly. Then I will come home and curl up on his childhood twin bed in the fetal position and cry. And tomorrow morning when I wake up I am going to lay in bed, listen for the sound of his feetie pajama clad footsteps running into my room and in my heart hear his 4-year-old voice asking “Momma, are you up? I think so you make me pancakes”.
This is hard, really, really hard.