As I sat in the back of the car next to my newborn in her freshly unwrapped car seat, I gazed out the window amazed at how it seemed that in just a matter of days the small buds on the trees turned into bright green leaves. I felt how the transformation outside was a reflection of a transformation happening inside me and inside that car where my husband and I were travelling home to begin our journey of keeping this vulnerable and fragile baby alive, all on our own. Scared, overwhelmed, grateful, awestruck. These don't even begin to touch the mix of emotions that make that car ride one of the most memorable of my life.
And then this week, I experienced the bookend car ride of driving home after dropping my girl off to her freshman college dorm. The air conditioning was a soothing relief to the oppressively humid summer day. I smiled as the images of the day reeled: her dorm room coming to life just the way she wanted, the campus buzzing with excitement, the friendly faces of her new roommates and their families. She was off into her independent life ready to make her dreams come true.
And I was being freed of the responsibility of raising a child. Being a mom hadn't come easy for me. Many times, I thought about this finish line, hoping I'd do ok as a mom, that she'd get all she needed to live a happy life. And here I was, seeing everything I hoped for her come to fruition.
And as a let out deep breath, my smile fell into the sharp silence of the car.
Thoughts started spinning. Was she really ok? Were her roommates actually the friendly girls they seemed? Would she be comfortable in that small bed? Should we have cleaned everything before moving her stuff in? Do they ever clean those places?!
I couldn't hold back this immense and irrational feeling of worry, so I shot off a text. I thought if I just got one little response from her, it would calm me down. But just how it should be for a girl who just moved in to college, she wasn't sitting there staring at her phone ready to promptly respond to her mother. And so the rest of the car ride, we sat in silence, and I waited for those three dots to appear and let me know that she was there on the other end.
I watched myself over the next days: an addict jonesing for my next fix of contact from her. Even though it horrified me, and I didn't want to be that mom, there was no stopping the impulse. Eighteen years of conditioning my mind to worry about whether she was hungry or sad or hurt had created a momentum that felt unstoppable. It isn't just something I did; it is who I was.
When parents who'd already been through this transition tried to tell me how hard it is and how weird it feels, I brushed it off in my mind. "Nah, not for me. I'm psyched and so ready. She's psyched and so ready." I felt so sure that this time of life would just be a huge celebration. I just saw this wonderful beginning for her, for me, for my husband.
And it is. A beautiful beginning for all of us. Yet, it seems that I'm not going to get out of mourning what is ending.
The rainy day that followed move-in day took my by surprise. Teary, unmotivated, depressed. I had to use all the discipline I could muster just to put down the phone and stop sending somewhat empty texts hoping for a reply, any reply. I finally admitted to my husband, to friends, to co-workers: this is a lot harder than I thought it would be.
Although being a mom wasn't something I always wanted to be, it turned into the most important thing. It drove my decisions about career, where to live, my relationships, my diet, my activities; it's been the root of literally every single thing in my life. And now, some big part of being a mom is over. She's an independent bad-ass who really doesn't need anyone leaning over her shoulder making sure she's ok.
There is still that sense of celebration for the good things to come for her, for me, for my adult relationship with her. That celebration still feels like the deepest truth of this transition.
But, I might just get all weepy when I come across pictures of when she was little, a video clip of her from last year, some odd thing that she left around the house. I might just have those days with the need for a hit of contact is so strong that I have odd fits of incessantly reaching out to her until I get a response. I might just get insanely creative at finding ways to end up around the corner from her school or come up with necessities that I must drop off to her.
Eventually though, I hope that all the room here in the nest starts filling up, and not with more babies! I'm remembering some dreams for myself that went on the shelf years ago when I made being a good mom the most important thing. I look forward to the time when the letting go has run it's course, and my own new beginning takes off.
