Just Like That, My Little One Grew Up

home insemination Kit

It really happened in the blink of an eye.

The first six weeks of his existence felt like an eternity packed with overwhelming emotions, sleepless nights, and the relentless chaos that comes with caring for a newborn. By the time I leaned over his cake at his first birthday celebration, cake adorned with Elmo and beach balls, I wasn’t the same person I was a year prior, and he had transformed into a full-fledged toddler, obsessed with balls, tunnels, and swings.

After that, some years crawled while others zipped by. His little legs stretched, his baby cheeks molded into defined cheekbones, and his hair grew thicker. Those tiny baby teeth fell out, making way for a mouth full of impressively straight adult teeth. He evolved into a real boy.

I have to confess something. Amidst the laundry piles, sports commitments, robotics competitions, and math homework, I kind of lost track of time. I knew the years would fly, but I somehow underestimated how quickly they would vanish. I forgot, for a moment or two, that there’s a unique sorrow parents experience: being grateful for their child’s growth and health while simultaneously mourning the fleeting moments of their childhood.

Honestly, it feels like he transformed overnight. Though he entered tween territory a few years back, my firstborn felt like my little boy until recently. But in the last few months, a switch flipped. He started staying up later, restless and waking up exhausted. Now he cherishes his privacy, spending more time in his room playing video games or reading. He’s often at school or practice rather than home. He still pops in to say good morning or goodnight, yet he’s crossed into a new phase of life.

It truly happened in an instant: as if the days and years before just zipped past me like a slick CGI effect. Now, he’s taller than I am and filled with secrets, dreams, and fears that I can only guess at (because he’s not exactly sharing). Our hugs have become long and slightly awkward, thanks to his gangly limbs that don’t quite know what to do with me.

The moment you become a mother, you know that one day you’ll have to let go of that little one. You understand that they aren’t yours forever. If you do your job well, you make yourself unnecessary. That’s the goal. However, no one clued me in that the process of letting go begins much sooner than expected. I thought I had more time, more moments to gather so that when I looked back, I’d feel a sense of completion. Instead, I’m left feeling a bit panicked. He feels slippery, like sand slipping through my fingers. I find myself tapping his shoulder, wishing he’d glance back, but he’s naturally eager to stride forward with those long legs that leave me in awe. This is it, I remind myself. He’s still my boy, my baby. But he belongs to himself and the world now, and I need to start loosening my grip.

Thirteen, please be gentle with me. I’m doing my best as a mom, trying not to hover or hold him back. I’m squeezing my eyes shut and turning my head, hoping he’ll land softly when he stumbles, understanding I can’t always rescue him. It’s a difficult journey, this letting go—accepting that I can’t shield him from heartache or failure and trying to do so with as much grace as I can muster.

I feel like I’m on the fastest part of a rollercoaster, where the wind is knocking the breath out of my lungs, and I want to laugh, but I can’t catch my breath long enough to do so. My instinct is to cling on, but I hope I can muster the courage to throw my hands up and embrace the ride ahead. I hope he can too.

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In case you’re curious about the journey of parenting, you might find this post on parenting quite engaging.