Hello High Schooler, Goodbye Baby

My son has always been a "mama's boy." Before I had a son of my own, I thought that was a negative term. But I have been raising a boy who dearly loves his mama, and believe me, I definitely understand what a blessing that is.

He is a child who frequently says, "I love you." He holds my hand in public - he's the one who reaches for my hand. He plans after-school Starbucks mother-son dates. He texts me sweet messages. He snuggles up next to me on the couch.

At least, he used to. He did all those things before he started high school.

I always knew this day would come - the day he would start to pull away from me. I expected it. And I know it's healthy, that he needs to separate from me in order to explore who he is as a growing young man. He needs less attachment to me as he figures out himself. This is good, and healthy, and normal.

But I wasn't ready. I knew it was looming in my near future. I thought it might be gradual. And maybe, for some mothers and sons, that's how it goes. For me, it felt like an abrupt rupture in our once incredibly close relationship.

He's made new friends who constantly text and send him Snapchats. He's got new places to be in the afternoon. He's got hobbies, experiences, and activities that are teenager-centered instead of family-centered. And for these things, I am thrilled. I'm grateful that he's got so many friends who enjoy him and he enjoys. I swell with pride, seeing him developing his talents and knowing that he's really good at some of these things. My heart overflows knowing that he's making his mark on the world.

But I miss the closeness. And I hate to admit it.

As a seminarian who's taken classes on pastoral care and family counseling, I really hate to admit it. I know this is natural and I want him to grow into his own person. I'm glad he is. But I miss movie nights. And the feel of his hand in mine. And the long evening conversations.

So I've started examining my life. I'm plenty busy - there are lots of things that can fill in the time we used to spend together. The Good Lord knows I have enough on my plate to fill in the gaps of time his growing up has left behind. I've got a good network of people who love me - thankfully they create a beautiful communal holding environment. These friends allow me to express my sadness while being supportive. I'm incredibly fortunate to have a loving spouse who also allows me to express myself, is kind and attentive - and we actually enjoy spending time together.

So all the boxes are checked off for me, I think. I knew this was coming. I know that it's healthy. I have a good support network. I have a solid marriage. So why is this so hard?

I think part of it is that I'm worried I'm the only one experiencing it. Even though we know it's coming, we hear about it from people who have gone through it and are on the other side (when they are close with their kids again, when their kids no longer think they are embarrassing or ridiculous). We share the lovely pictures of our high schoolers, the sweet stories, the tender moments. If you ever read my Facebook posts, I try to "keep it real" - sharing both the beautiful and the bonkers.

But I've been struggling with this for a couple of months, and I haven't wanted to share this. Maybe I'm ashamed. Maybe it feels lame to say it out loud (or in print). Maybe I'm afraid to admit I feel alone.

It's hard to say goodbye to my baby. But when I look into his eyes, I'm looking into the eyes of a young man. I have to look up in order to meet his gaze. As hard as it is, my baby is turning into a man.

And you know, if I'm honest, the baby isn't totally gone. This morning, he texted me to tell me he loved me. "Have an amazing day," he said. The other day, I wanted to carry on a family Halloween tradition that he is outgrowing, but he participated with us. He even laughed and smiled a couple of times.

If you have little ones, soak up the sweetness now. If you too are saying goodbye to your baby, know you're not alone. If your child is now grown and living their life, send some love to those of us starting the journey.

It's natural. It's hard. But it can be beautiful too. I love the phrase coined by Glennon Doyle - if something is brutal and beautiful, she calls it brutifal. Welcome to this brutiful phase of parenting.

Hello high school.

Goodbye baby.

Hey there, son. I love you. I'm proud of you. I'll be okay. You've got this. Go grow.