It is January 26th – The day after January 25th. So far you are obviously impressed with my superior manipulation of the obvious.
However, my days truly are numbered and the day after the 25th suddenly becomes more weighted with emotion and consternation. Yesterday, my youngest child turned 18; a big achievement and a milestone for us all. However, while I was happy to hear that it was his best birthday ever, it brought reality crashing into the 26th.
This best birthday had nothing to do with me. He is away at school and happy with his teachers, dorm mates and looking forward to bench pressing at the gym.
I brought him into the world and he is more than ready to fly. In fact, he would fly just about anywhere rather than home. No, I am not being maudlin or feeling sorry for myself, it is simply the truth. His days of adventure and the freedom to travel, without permission slips as a minor, are stacking up like his collection of boxed basketball shoes.
My kids are more powerful and independent and I am more tired. This may be the cycle of things, but it is still scary to see the unknown third act. Arthritis is setting into my joints as my son bench presses 900 pounds with his legs. He cannot get his clothes tight enough and I cannot get mine loose.
He tells me that the ability to push off so much weight is all in the mind. How did the 18 year old figure this out when I cannot? So, it is January 26th, the first day of the rest of my life with “adult children”. Truly, a Mother’s oxymoron if I ever heard one.
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