As I approached the final weeks of my first pregnancy, the familiar nesting instinct finally hit me, as everyone had warned it would. Friends and family would ask, “Have you started nesting yet?” My answer was always a casual “Not yet.” But one morning, I woke up and felt an undeniable compulsion to transform our chaotic home into a sanctuary for our new baby. I was ready to embrace the nesting phase, and nothing could stop me from fulfilling that urge.
Curiously, my first task was to scrub the front door of our house. With my belly making it difficult to bend, I waddled outside and began cleaning. It seemed fitting that I was focused on the front door because it represented the threshold my baby would soon cross—a gateway that needed to be pristine and inviting for the beginning of his joyful childhood. I was determined to ensure that this entryway was welcoming, polished, and ready for all the memories to come.
Fast forward to today, and my baby is now preparing to head off to college. As he stands at the brink of adulthood, I find myself nesting once more, but this time in reverse. As he gets ready to leave through that same front door, I’m filled with an overwhelming desire to make our home perfect—perhaps even too perfect—so that he might hesitate to go. I want to create an environment overflowing with love and happiness that he will carry with him as he ventures into the world. It feels like the final stretch of parenting, like the last miles of a marathon; I’m exhausted yet inspired, eager to finish strong.
I’m finding myself less inclined to scold him and more inclined to shower him with affection. I feel the urge to take care of him in ways that may not align with his burgeoning independence. After all, this is the time when he should be learning to handle responsibilities on his own, right? Sometimes, I can’t help but wonder why we rush our teenagers into adulthood. They have their whole lives to tackle laundry, cook meals, and manage a household. At 17 and 18, should they really be shouldering all these responsibilities? Yes, they must, but part of me still longs to keep him my little boy. The thought of him facing the harsh realities of life without my protective guidance is daunting.
As I come to terms with the end of my primary parenting years, I find myself plagued by memories of all my parenting missteps. The guilt is overwhelming, and I often feel like I’m losing my confidence. I remember those moments when I lost my cool, the times he saw me crumble from exhaustion, and the criticism I unfairly directed at him. The life lessons I failed to teach linger in my mind, leaving a bittersweet taste. Did I let him see too much of my shortcomings? Am I human, or am I a failure? Will I ever find redemption?
Alongside this guilt, I grapple with another critical question: Have I done enough? Have I equipped him with the life skills and experiences he needs? Did I succeed in my quest to raise a remarkable adult? The truth is, I don’t know. While he may be on the verge of 18, society’s definition of adulthood, he is still my baby. And to me, he always will be. I now understand my mother’s sentiment when she said, “My baby is having a baby!” We will always be someone’s baby, and the worry that accompanies this is both a blessing and a burden.
Reflecting on my journey as a parent, I realize that the worries I had during my first nesting phase were trivial compared to the concerns I face now. Back then, I was anxious about what kind of mother I would be. Today, I find myself questioning what kind of mother I have been. As I prepare for him to leave, I recognize that it’s time to embrace the future. I aim to focus less on regrets and more on the hope and excitement of what lies ahead.
In the remaining time I have before my son spreads his wings, I plan to fill our home with warmth and joy. My parenting journey may not be over, but I feel a sense of relief, as if I’m cruising downhill for a bit. As he prepares to cross the threshold into college, I want to do so with joy, even if it means that door remains a bit dusty.
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Summary
This reflection on the nesting instinct highlights the bittersweet transition of preparing for a child to leave for college. As a mother grapples with feelings of guilt and nostalgia, she focuses on creating a loving home environment while acknowledging the inevitable change. Emphasizing hope and anticipation, she seeks to embrace the future as her child takes flight.