Fly Away, Little Bug

Whoever said “The days are long, but the years are short” was not lying.

I probably complained the day this picture was taken.

I was chaperoning a field trip for my son’s preschool class to our local Nature Center, complete with muddy hike and requisite rain. The date stamp tells me it was the spring of 2007 which means I would have had an infant at home, presumably with my mom or a babysitter. I imagine I was cold in addition to being wet and that I had fifty other things I could have been doing.

Sure, it would have been sweet, because just look at this sweet little ladybug. But it also would have used up those precious two-and-a-half hours that my firstborn was at preschool, meaning no workout for Mommy that day.

So I probably complained.

But then yesterday, this same child put on a black cap and gown with a gold sash and his National Honor Society cords and marched across the stage with his 350 classmates. He took pictures with kids he’s known since kindergarten and even before. He got huge congratulatory hugs from teachers and coaches and principals. He stood tall and handsome and proud.

And I really wouldn’t mind turning back the clock to those field trip chaperoning days, even cold, wet, muddy ones.

I promise that I will never tell new parents to “enjoy every moment.” Because you’re just not going to and there’s no reason to add guilt to the long list of parenting emotions. Some of the moments are exhausting, exasperating, or enraging. Some are disappointing, heartbreaking, or just plain hard.

There will be phases you can’t wait for them to grow out of. There will be habits or hobbies or friends you wish they would drop. There will be tedious minutes spent waiting for them to come out of baseball practice or hours spent preparing foods they never eat. You will have bedtime battles, homework battles, curfew battles.

You will really, really want some quiet time to do nothing. By yourself. With no one calling “Mommy!” every five seconds. And you’ll deserve those breaks, that alone time. Because parenting is hard.

But then they’ll put on their cap and gown and go and graduate on you. And that’s hard too.

They’ll pack up the car and head to a college that’s eight hours away. And that’s hard… even when it’s a college they were so excited to get into and one where you’re confident they’ll be happy. They’ll leave you grasping at text messages like they’re gold because that’s all you’ve got of them anymore. Sporadic updates through a screen instead of listening to animated in-person stories punctuated with deep laughter, instead of watching their right-in-front-of-you faces as they interact with their peers and friends, instead of feeling their suddenly strong bodies in your arms.

And that’s hard.

It’s what we all want, of course, this growing up business. The only alternative to it is not a good one. We want to witness their successes, celebrate their independence, get to know their new adult (or at least, adult-like) selves. Their growing up is the goal, after all; it’s what you’ve been working for all these years.

Except you wish it didn’t happen so damn fast. And you wish it didn’t feel so damn hard.