I never envisioned myself as that mom—the one who mourns each fleeting phase of childhood, who gets teary-eyed at every milestone. You know the one: the emotional wreck at the preschool graduation? That won’t be me.
But nobody prepared me for these subtle heartaches that come with parenting.
On a sunny day in Hilton Head, South Carolina, my family and I set off for the beach, our little one, Max, riding along in his Radio Flyer. We looked like a perfect postcard, I won’t deny it.
As we reached our destination, I unstrapped Max from the wagon and lifted him into my arms. Then, in that seemingly idyllic moment, he pulled away and leaned back.
“No!” he exclaimed.
Confused, I tried again to lift him up. “No!” he protested, squirming in my grasp. “Get down!”
I gently placed him on the sand and extended my finger for him to hold. (Maybe he just didn’t want to be held?)
“No, Mama!” Max insisted, turning towards his father. He toddled away, grasped my husband’s hand, and waved back at me. “Bye-bye.”
In that sweet interaction, my little boy chose his dad over me. Yet, despite the tenderness of the moment, my heart felt heavy.
It was a familiar ache—echoes of past heartaches. The distance, the rejection; it was the first time he actively sought to be apart from me.
Hello, Break Up. Nice to meet you.
I waved my boys off and sat down on a towel, pretending to read a magazine as I adjusted my sunglasses to hide the tears welling up. I’m not that mom, remember?
As my husband and son played in the waves, collecting shells and enjoying the sand, my mind was elsewhere. I began to envision the many tiny goodbyes that lay ahead in our journey of parenthood.
I imagined Max shoving me away at the bus stop: “Mom, I know how to get there. Can you please just wait here today?”
I pictured him picking out his own clothes, a mismatched outfit of superhero t-shirts and socks. “Mom, I can dress myself. I don’t need your help anymore.”
Then there was the scene of a sullen teen on the ride home from a basketball game. “Mom, could you not cheer so loudly? The other kids tease me.”
First cars, first dates, high school graduation, and a college sticker slapped onto a packed trunk. “Don’t worry, Mom. I’ll be home by Christmas.” I could almost feel that tiny wave goodbye.
In hindsight, motherhood is fundamentally about nurturing someone until it’s time to let go. Perhaps it’s a small blessing that these moments of separation don’t come all at once; I don’t think my heart could bear it.
Every mother hopes her child will be happy, confident, and independent. But that doesn’t mean the journey is free from pain.
From the moment he was born, my son relied on me completely. And with each passing day, if I’m doing my job right, that need will lessen. Between now and when Max is fully grown, I will face countless small goodbyes.
And you know what? I think I will allow myself to feel the weight of this sadness. Because if I’m really honest, maybe I am “that mom” after all. And this childhood of his is speeding by far too fast.
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Summary:
Motherhood is a series of small separations as children grow and become more independent. Each moment can feel like a tiny breakup, from wanting to be held to eventually asserting their independence. While these moments are bittersweet, it’s essential for mothers to embrace the journey and recognize the natural progression of parenting.