On a sweltering summer day, I find myself in a cramped middle school cafeteria, and suddenly, my son clambers into my lap. He wraps his long arms around my neck and whispers, “Love you more, Mama.” As he pulls away with that cheeky grin, my frustrations evaporate.
He’s squirmy and restless, pretending to pay attention to the performance on stage. I lean in and softly shush him. He takes my hand, intertwining his fingers with mine, marveling at the contrast between his small hand and my own. He rests his head against my chest, the scent of his shampoo mingling with the sweat of a boy who just finished running in circles. I close my eyes and savor this moment, knowing it’s a gift—time spent with him like this is limited.
I remember when his older brother occupied this same space, and now he towers over me, a reminder of how rapidly time flies. It feels like just yesterday he was nestled in my lap, and now he’s navigating the complexities of adolescence, discovering his own identity with interests and passions that are all his own. I hope I’ve equipped him with the skills to embrace this new world, to love and trust himself, and to find humor in life’s mishaps. I want him to know he can always return to me for support.
The time we have with our children is always too short. Days can seem endless, yet the years slip by in the blink of an eye. That little boy, once nestled in my lap, will soon stand on stage, and I’ll watch from the audience, a mix of pride and nostalgia swelling within me. I’ll fight back tears, relishing that bittersweet moment, wishing desperately for time to slow down.
Soon enough, my lap will be empty. There will be no small arms around my neck, no tiny fingers tracing the lines of my hand. I realize that the time we have together is shorter than it appears, and I know it will all come too soon.
Our children are not truly ours. They are independent beings entrusted to us for a brief period. I often say I’m not in the business of collecting kids; rather, I’m here to guide them and eventually let them fly. What no one tells new parents is that with each passing day, our children drift a little further away from us, becoming more self-reliant and needing us less.
This is the essence of parenthood. If we’ve done our job well, our kids will rely on us less and less. While witnessing their growth is our goal, it does come at a cost. Each step they take toward independence requires us to loosen our grip just a little more. Motherhood is a beautifully bittersweet journey.
So, as I sit with my son on my lap, I etch that moment into my memory, knowing I need to cherish every second. One day, he’ll be grown, and I’ll be left with just memories of these fleeting moments. This little boy isn’t mine forever; I’m merely a steward of his childhood, and I’ll cherish every moment while I can.
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Summary
The time we spend with our children is fleeting and bittersweet. As they grow more independent, we must cherish every moment while recognizing that they are not ours to keep forever. Our role as parents is to nurture and guide them as they navigate their own paths in life.