Junior is graduating from high school.
When I started this blog in 2008, Junior was still sleeping in a man-made cocoon called the Amby bed. He hadn't yet uttered his first words or stepped his first wobbly steps. A year into new motherhood, I was standing on the sidelines of a strange new world full of "Mommy and Me" groups, anxiety-inducing milestones, sleepless nights, and a newfound, ever-encompassing sense of worry that I would never be good enough.
This blog was a lovely break from that, and back then, before the onslaught of social media, it provided the sweetest sense of community.
Seventeen years later, all of that is a distant blur. I once had to ask a woman at a park if it was okay to send baby Junior down a slide. "Was he old enough?" I needed to know. Now I could mother blindfolded, with both arms tied behind my back, hanging upside down.
I guess they call that seasoned.
I would give a pinky finger to go back in time to just one of those nights when Junior was little. To sit in a moment of rocking him — his silky head under my nose — or rubbing his nubby back, soft and precious in a footie pajama set.
I reminded myself to close my eyes enough in those moments and to breathe it in, despite the worry and fatigue. Despite the fear that I would somehow mess him up beyond repair. I reminded myself to stop and remember because I honestly did know this time would come.
Now he's 18, and he's a really amazing human being. He's thoughtful and charismatic and kind. He helps me cook. He helps me move furniture. He's handsome and tall. He walks his grandmothers to the car and opens their door. He's also a damn good older brother.
He's everything and then some more.
And I know it — it's the proverbial "setting free" time. There's no going back. Just forward.
And just holy shit. It sure does just stop you in your tracks.
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