Sometimes, it feels like I’ve stepped into a time warp. Summer has slipped away once again, the nights are becoming cooler, and soccer games are underway. Dance lessons will kick off in just two weeks. Before we know it, Thanksgiving will be here, followed swiftly by Christmas, lacrosse, track meets, and recitals. And then, the final summer will arrive — the last one where both of my kids are still living at home. Each turn of the calendar brings with it a sense of an unavoidable conclusion.
How did we get here so quickly?
It seems like just yesterday that I was sweating at the pool with my 2- and 4-year-olds. The heat was relentless, and I was preoccupied with my post-pregnancy swimsuit figure, all while worrying that one of them might drown. The thought of kindergarten, let alone high school or college, felt like a distant dream. I remember exchanging glances with another mom at the baby pool, silently wishing we could lounge under that big shade tree, lost in a book.
Yes, I thought. I can’t wait until my daughter swims independently — until she doesn’t need me at all.
Suddenly, that time has passed unnoticed. I haven’t been to the pool in three years; my daughter now swims without me, and she would probably be mortified if I showed up there. She’s got her friends, trendy swimsuits, and boys vying for her attention.
Just the other day, I was cleaning under the bed and stumbled upon a solitary green Lego piece. Our days of constructing imaginative brick worlds together are behind us. Back when my children were little, I often felt the urge to hurry through each phase, including the Lego days. Perhaps it was my hectic work schedule combined with the constant demands from small children that made me want to rush. Maybe it was simply my frustration with the tiny Lego pieces scattered throughout the house.
Hurry. Hurry. Hurry.
If I had the chance, I’d slow down and build a few more Lego castles. I tucked that little green brick away in my jewelry box, a reminder of what once was.
Where did the American Girl dolls go? The 500 stuffed animals? The princess costumes? That enormous dollhouse? It feels like I should file a missing persons report. I’ve been replaced by their friends, lessons, and teams — each child pursuing their own interests.
And what happened to my sweet son’s floppy hair? Now, there’s a 6-foot teenager with a crew cut who grunts and often replies with “I don’t know.”
The lovely young woman who now occupies the room where my strong-willed toddler once slept asked me to grab tampons and mascara at the store. Oh my goodness!
When I glance in the mirror, I see a middle-aged woman staring back at me, her eyes lined with fine wrinkles and roots that are starting to grey.
Friday and Saturday nights are mostly quiet now.
I’m no longer a young mom. My kids don’t rely on me in the same ways they used to. Yet, just the other day, my son asked me to toss him the lacrosse ball so he could practice shooting. So I did.
Last week, he wanted me to watch “Boyz n the Hood” with him. My desk was overflowing with tasks, articles to proof, and real estate calls to return. To be honest, I was looking forward to some uninterrupted time to tackle my work.
But green Lego.
We watched the film together and discussed it afterward. It was one of the few quiet moments we’ve shared this summer.
My daughter tends to open up late at night, just when I feel like I can’t keep my eyes open any longer. But I stay awake, because as long as she needs me, I’m here for her.
They still require rides, advice, and boundaries. And, like newborns, they seem to need constant feeding. The toys of childhood are vanishing, and the food disappears at lightning speed.
But change is here.
We’ve navigated through so many phases and are heading toward new horizons, interesting adventures, and exciting beginnings. I intend to cherish each moment, not rush through them. Whether it’s watching a movie or having a heart-to-heart, I recognize the importance of putting my tasks on hold when necessary.
And that’s perfectly fine.
Isn’t that what every parent desires? Independent children? My mother assures me that my kids will always need me, just as I still need her. Each stage brings its own unique challenges.
I suppose I just wasn’t ready for how swiftly this un-needing would unfold. It’s like being shot through space, where the laws of physics seem to bend when you’re a mom. The “lasts” come at you like asteroids.
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In summary, navigating the un-needed phase of parenthood can be overwhelming, yet it offers opportunities for deeper connections with our growing children. Embracing these moments allows us to appreciate the journey and foster lasting relationships.