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.
This is Part 1 of what I’m calling our “Mom-Son” series. Not because I have it all figured out—heaven knows I don’t—but because I need to write my way through this strange, beautiful, heartbreaking transition.
It started small. He closes his bedroom door now. He used to leave it open a crack, like a little question mark. Now it’s a period. When I ask about his day, “fine” is a full sentence. When I try to kiss his forehead goodbye at school drop-off, he ducks—just slightly—and gives me a fist bump instead. Mom-Son -1-
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.
He’s not pushing me out . He’s practicing who he is without me for a few moments at a time. And honestly? That’s the whole point of this parenting thing, isn’t it? To work ourselves out of a job. For ten years, I was his sun
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.
I stood frozen for a second, my palm still tingling from where his fingers used to be. This is Part 1 of what I’m calling
So here is my promise for this series—and to myself: