Growing pains

So, almost two weeks ago, my husband and my daughter and I drove several hours to take my beautiful first born, the boy, off to University. 

I cried. A lot. Not so much on the way home, but in the preceding weeks and most definitely on the car ride there. I tried to hide my tears behind my sunglasses, but I kept looking at my son in the back seat, so he quickly caught on that Mom was a bit emotional (Understatement of the century! I also believe there was a conspiracy set up by the government in cahoots with all radio stations to play the saddest music of all time so that all parental units dropping kids off were bawling by the time the drop-off was nearing. Who the hell plays 'Yesterday' by the Beatles on drop-off day?? Seriously). 

Once we were there, registering and watching him learn to fly with those wings I have tried to keep indefinitely clipped for 17 years was an experience I don't want to, but have to repeat in 2 years with my baby girl. I should really just start crying now and maybe I'll be all dried up by that time? No, I wont'.  We got him sorted out and made the bed, tried to figure out where his possessions would actually fit in a dorm room he shares with two friends, and then it was time to leave. I wanted to stay forever. Wasn't there room for me somewhere?? Sadly, the answer is no. I think that might be the worst recognition. Suddenly,  it donned on me that I'm just a Mom and while I have tended and clucked and prodded since he was born, there isn't much room anymore. I get it. I have parents, and while I miss them and talk often, it's different. Our worlds are now separate and we bring them together once in a while. Once you fly the coop, there's really no turning back. Things will never be the same. He will grow into a man while I'm not there to watch. He is learning, truly, how to think and experience and feel for himself and while I am beyond excited for him, I am fearful. Fearful for him (please make smart choices and for God's sake, stay safe!! (as in come home to me in one piece)), and absolutely scared out of my mind for me. I am terrified. What if he grows up and comes home at Thanksgiving and has decided that I text and call too often and frankly, he doesn't like me anymore. Thanks for helping, but see ya! Thanks for cooking me for 9 months and losing sleep for 17 years and counting, but nice knowin' ya!  Yup, not a coloured hair left on my head terrified. 

I have unsuccesfully tried to think of this University experience as though it were summer camp. Delusional, I know. While it worked for the first 48 hours, I knew I had to clean up my son's room and that's when it hit me...he might be home in a few weeks, he might not be home until Thanksgiving (which, lucky for me is in October in Canada, but still too long). You may want to note, that task has not been completed, it's too hard. It is honestly surreal. Wasn't this the brand new human I so tenderly held in my arms - with his big, curious, blue eyes, his beautiful cherubic cheeks and head of downy soft hair - just yesterday??

Too fast. Too much and too fast. 

I waited this long to compose these thoughts because, like my house that seems perpetually stuck in the chaotic state I left it while packing two weeks ago, I was at an emotional stand-still. I look around at the disaster that is currently my home, and know that it is an absolute reflection of my thoughts and feelings at the moment, and I should let them flow and clean it up!  Not so easy because part of me fears that if I tidy things up, or pack things away, it's putting a piece of my boy permanently out of sight. Or, worse yet, what if I throw something out or pack something away that he wanted. That wouldn't be very nice of me would it?

Frosh week went down without a hitch...for my son. At home we found it too quiet and too worrisome. I'm thinking this whole kid leaving the house thing is never easy, it's just getting used to it with time. No news is good news, right?  He had a lot of fun and even got himself out of bed (way too early) to try out for the rowing team. We are not sure if he made it yet, but I'm so proud of the kid that I spent four years screaming at to "GET. UP!! or you'll be late for school!" for getting up, and making it to tryouts. He worked hard. He's only been away for almost two weeks and he's already becoming a responsible man while I'm not looking. 

We miss him. All of us. I'm going to trust that he misses us back, and I'm hoping that he has an unforgetable experience. It is an incredible stage of life when you're young and eager. I just hope he remembers to frequently call home and keep us posted. And that I'll likely make the trek to visit by next week because I might not be able to last much longer than that without seeing his beautiful face. 

Maybe, just maybe, I'll try not to text him a million times a day for a play by play, and keep his wings from being clipped just a smidge more. It will be growing pains for all of us, and we shall just see how high the kid can fly...