In the heart of a century-old farmhouse, we, a family of three, made our home. My son, Max, became the seventh generation to grow up in this lively space. Together, we tackled renovations, ripping down old ceilings, expanding closets, and painting every inch we could reach. The atmosphere was filled with laughter and music, often accompanied by the soothing sounds of James Taylor. We played with the lyrics, adjusting pronouns, because the essence of the songs mattered more than their precision.
There’s something about the way she glances my direction or calls my name that transcends the chaos of our world.
The arrival of Max 18 years ago turned everything upside down. Motherhood was never part of my grand plans; I envisioned a life of high-stakes business meetings in sharp suits and polished heels. I wasn’t fond of babysitting during my teenage years, and I had zero interest in diapers and strollers. And then, my entire perspective shifted.
Four children in five years.
Even in moments of despair or trivial worries, she has a way of lifting my spirits.
Diving into this new chapter, I embraced it all—short hair, a fuller figure, and the inevitable spit-up stains. I surrendered to the late-night feedings and the comforting scents of baby powder and diaper cream. And in that process, I might have lost a piece of myself.
Sometimes, I find that the things I relied upon start to feel unfamiliar, leaving me in a whirlwind of emotions.
In those early days, Chris and I often reminded each other, “It’s all about survival.” With four little ones—ages 6, 4, 3, and 1—there was little time for anything beyond the essentials. Days flew by, consumed by meal prep, nap times, and baths. I often fell asleep before finishing a page of a beloved novel and forgot the art of applying lipstick.
Fast forward 12 years, and here we are, preparing for Max to head off to college. Meanwhile, my younger son, Eli, is busy boxing up his beloved stuffed animals and his treasured Snap Circuits. The adventure of letting go is upon us. In just a few years, all four kids will have flown the nest. Even their cherished childhood dogs, now graying and slow, sit by my feet, seeking comfort. “I know, I know,” I whisper to them. They’ve earned their rest after years of protecting us from the mailman and enduring the chaos of childhood.
The thought of Max leaving sometimes catches in my throat, a bittersweet sensation that isn’t exactly sadness—it’s something deeper.
It’s not merely about what she says but how she thinks and the journey she’s taken. The words are lovely, their rhythm soothing.
Reflecting on the memories of chubby little legs that have grown into strong, confident young man limbs, I cherish the melodies of childhood that resurface from time to time—everything from They Might Be Giants to “The Rainbow Connection.” My heart sings along, a testament to our shared love for music. In our car rides, we find a balance between my penchant for heartfelt ballads and Max’s passion for electronic dance music, often landing on Florence and the Machine.
As we prepare to say goodbye to a familiar life, we also embrace the vast possibilities ahead. Who will Max become when he spreads his wings? What paths will Eli explore without his brother’s towering presence? And who will I become as my role as the mother of four young children transforms?
The possibilities are endless.
I wish to remind him of the small things—brush your teeth, trim your nails, wash your towels before they become their own entity. I want to have one last chat about responsible drinking and the importance of looking out for friends. I want him to eat more vegetables and advocate for himself and the causes he cares about. But those reminders are redundant; for 18 years, he has absorbed these lessons.
We have raised a remarkable young man. His choices are now his own, just as mine are mine.
As we step into our new lives, Max and I are teaching each other. He shows me that as I let him go, I also open myself to a future filled with new opportunities.
I feel content whenever she’s around, and lately, she’s been by my side almost perpetually. If I’m well, it’s evident that she’s been with me for a long time.
In those in-between moments of sleep, I can still recall the sweet scent of his baby head, though it vanishes the moment I awaken. Yet, that memory lingers.
This firstborn has always been my greatest teacher.
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