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When We Were Young
We lived at Alex’s family farm, just the three of us. Emma was the sixth generation of Carters to call the 100-year-old farmhouse home. We ripped out old ceilings, expanded closets, and painted every inch we could reach. Oh, how we sang and danced during those days, with that bright-eyed, 10-pound baby nestled in my arms or strapped to my chest. James Taylor was our go-to. We played around with the pronouns because the bigger concepts, the feelings, mattered so much more.
Something in the way she moves, or the way she looks at me, or calls my name seems to lift the weight of the world away.
When Emma came into our lives 18 years ago, everything flipped upside down. Motherhood was never part of my childhood dreams; I had envisioned myself conquering the world in sharp business suits and high heels. Babysitting as a teen? Not my thing. Diapers and strollers? No, thank you. And then, everything changed.
Four babies in five years.
And when I felt low or caught up in some silly worry, she always had a way of shifting my perspective.
Like with everything else, I dove headfirst into this new chapter. I sported short hair, a wider waist, and stained rugby shirts. Desitin and Johnson’s baby powder became staples in my life, along with those late-night feedings. I might’ve lost a bit of myself along the way.
Sometimes, the things I used to rely on seem to fade, and I find myself wandering into unfamiliar territory.
In those early years, Chris and I often reminded each other, “It’s all about survival.” And sometimes, it truly was. When our kids were 6, 4, 3, and 1, there was barely time for anything beyond meal prep, nap schedules, and bath times.
I’d fall asleep before I could finish a single paragraph of a favorite book. I forgot how to put on lipstick.
Fast-forward 12 years. The fastest-fast forward you can imagine.
Now, we’re packing Emma for college while Max is boxing up all his stuffed animals and toys. Those four little ones we had in such a short span? Their time at home is starting to slip away. In five years, they’ll all be gone. Even our beloved dogs, once so lively, are now showing their age with graying fur and creaky joints. As I write, they whine at my feet, and I whisper soothingly, “I know. I know. Go to sleep, sweethearts.” They deserve their rest after years of tolerating tail-pulling and fiercely guarding us from delivery people.
Thinking about Emma leaving often catches in my throat, that heavy lump of emotion. But it’s not sadness; it’s something deeper.
It isn’t just her words but the way she thinks and where she’s been that resonates with me. It feels like a beautiful mix of cherished memories and those chubby baby legs that have grown into strong, sturdy ones. It’s a collection of childhood songs—from They Might Be Giants to “The Rainbow Connection”—that pop into my mind, cycling through my thoughts. (“We know that it’s probably maaaagiiic…” sung in a tiny, fearless voice.) My love for sappy tunes and Emma’s passion for electronic dance music create our car ride playlist of Florence and The Machine.
It’s the bittersweet goodbye to a life we’ve grown comfortable in and the open arms to the adventures that lie ahead. Who will Emma be when we no longer keep her under our wing? What will Max aspire to when he stands on his own, no longer in the shadow of his big sister? What does this mean for me, now that my role as a mom to four little ones is transitioning?
The possibilities are endless.
She has this unique ability to find me in moments of chaos and remind me of the happiness we’ve shared.
I want to remind her to brush her teeth twice daily, to keep her toenails trimmed, and to wash her sheets more than she thinks is necessary. I want to discuss responsible drinking, the importance of never leaving friends behind, and taking care of herself and those she loves. I want to encourage her to eat more veggies and less fast food, and to stand up for the things that matter to her.
But honestly, that would just be repeating what we’ve already instilled during these 18 years.
We’ve raised a strong, smart young woman. Her choices are her own now, just as mine are.
Together, we’re stepping into our new lives. Emma is teaching me that as I let her go, I’m simultaneously opening my arms to new possibilities.
I feel fine whenever she’s around—she’s become a constant presence in my life. And when I’m well, it’s clear she’s been here. This connection has been part of me for a long time, and I feel fine.
Sometimes, when I drift between sleep and waking, I can still catch a whiff of that intoxicating scent of her sweaty baby head. But as soon as I open my eyes, it’s gone. Yet, the memory lingers.
This firstborn has always been my greatest teacher.