For ten years, I was his sun. He orbited around me: my schedule, my voice, my hug at the end of a bad day. Now, slowly, he is building his own gravity.
But here’s what I’m discovering in Part 1 of this journey: his pulling away isn’t rejection. It’s the first draft of his independence.
For me, it happened on a Tuesday afternoon. Mom-Son -1-
Stay tuned for Part 2: The First Inside Joke I’m Not a Part Of.
I stood frozen for a second, my palm still tingling from where his fingers used to be. For ten years, I was his sun
I won’t pretend it doesn’t sting. It does. There are mornings I miss the little boy who yelled “MOMMY!” from his crib like I was a rockstar entering the arena.
So here is my promise for this series—and to myself: But here’s what I’m discovering in Part 1
A fist bump.
Because this isn’t the end of our story. It’s just Part 1.
I will not make him feel guilty for growing up. I will not cry where he can see me (okay, maybe just once). And I will learn to love the fist bump, even while I miss the sticky, small hand in mine.
There is a moment in every mother’s life that she knows is coming, yet somehow never feels ready for. It doesn’t arrive with a bang or a dramatic announcement. It arrives quietly—usually in the car, or while folding laundry.