I loved it when my boys were all babies. I was their whole world and I held that world in the palm of my little hand. I fed them, I bathed them, I colored with them. I played Pokemon, Legos and Thomas the Train. I drove them to play dates, to the zoo, to Grandma's house and watched them swat mosquitoes on the little league outfield and get kicked in the shins playing soccer. I was a good little soccer mom, too. I always brought the best treats...none of this "carrot stick and string cheese" business. It was all sugar, all the time! Yeah!
And then they became teenagers.
Not only did their world get considerably bigger, I became a little teeny tiny dot on the map. Now my days are filled with anxiety and questions. "Why isn't he home? Why hasn't he called yet? Did he remember his wallet? Is he too tired to drive? Did he run out of gas? I hope he wore his seat belt. Oh dear, I bet he's been in an accident. I'm sure he's unconscious on the road somewhere. Should I just peek at the iPhone locator one more time to see where he is?"
And then it hits me. I have become a stalker mom. An obsessive compulsive, control freak who is gripped with panic when her children are not in her sight. I'm THAT mom. The one who still tells them to be careful crossing the street. The one who has the phone number of every friend her kids have ever had so I can track them down if I ever needed to. The one who sends her sons on a scout camp with a whole set of luggage filled with thermals and extra socks after giving them a firm lecture on staying with the camp and not leaving food in their tent. I swear to you that I am one step away from implanting a monitor on the back of their necks like in Ender's Game.
To all of those moms out there with married kids and empty nests I ask: how do you do it? How do you let go and release your babies into the world where they can live their own lives and learn things the hard way? It seems impossible. I admit that I am struggling more than just a bit. But at the same time I think of myself at their age; my whole life ahead of me, full of promise. Most of the time I felt confident in my ability to navigate the world around me. So why can't I let them enjoy the same freedom?
I can think of a couple of people in my life who were and are still really good at letting their children be their own person. (Yes, Mom and Dad - I'm talking about you). They listen, they give advice only when asked and most of all, they let us fall down once in a while and we become stronger for it.
But it's just so difficult. It's this urge I have; this dang maternal instinct that tells me to wrap them in their blankies and rock them to sleep. It's powerful; it's overwhelming; it makes me wanna roar like a mamma bear. But I am beginning to understand the important role I have in raising resilient children who can problem-solve and be responsible adults. I literally have to bite my tongue most of the time to restrain the outpouring of advice that will surely spew from my mouth whenever my kids come up against an obstacle, either large or small, but I am trying, dang it!
And so I keep trying. To let them be their own person, to let them fail (or not fail) and to just let them find out if they can do some things for themselves.
But most of all to NOT be the reason they wind up in therapy. :)
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