The changing faces of motherhood

Since the moment the twins were born, a part of me knew adulthood loomed. But to be honest who is thinking about your kids going off to college when you are covered in explosive diarrhea and cleaning formula from the neck folds of your spitting child. In fact, at that point college would have been a welcome reprieve from sleep training and the 5pm “witching hour”.

When M was 4, she came into our room in the middle of the night sobbing. The week before we had driven past UT Austin while on vacation and explained the idea of college to the kids. Now, as those tears fell down her cherubic cheeks, “she sputtered “I don’t want to go to college; I don’t want to ever leave you”. After some reassurance that she did not have to leave us and some hugs, she got back into her bed. My husband and I rolled our eyes at her dramatic persona and promptly fell back asleep.

I would say S (pronouns they/them), on the other hand, exhibited their independence from an early age. They were always pushing boundaries and trying new things with reckless abandon (broken bones and stiches ensued). And despite them choosing to go to a high school in the city, every night the Metra brought them back to our house and my arms. While they relished learning the ins and outs of El lines and neighborhoods of Chicago, I took comfort in knowing their bed was in the suburbs just down the hall from our bedroom.

And conveniently, the kids would come into our room every night before going to bed. Sometimes they would lay in bed with us talking; sometimes it was a quick peck on the cheek, and they were off to their room. When we would get distracted on our phones instead of paying attention to their stories, they would point out that we wouldn’t have them forever. And while that was surely true, I told them that was so far away and for now I needed some “me” time.

And in May of this year, when we attended two separate high school graduations, celebrated their academic achievements and (gulp!) their adult birthdays, they continued to be our kids. I distracted myself by looking at pictures of dorm rooms and ways to organize on a budget. I expertly entered the date of their college breaks into our iPhones and did not feel anything because it was just a task on my list. I even planned a successful graduation party by focusing on every small detail, preventing me from acknowledging my emotions.

And then came this one week in August- the past met the future in the present. And the present involved driving our minivan on two separate trips through cornfields, some in Indiana and some in Illinois. On the way down, I was focused on efficient unpacking and all the tasks we had to complete before we left our child at school. But on the way home in a much emptier car, physically and figuratively, I replayed memories of our family’s life and wondered if that was it.  Now don’t get me wrong, I’m not as dramatic as my kids.  My kids are going to be back.  We will be supporting them financially for years to come. We live in a world of Facetime calls and multiple modes of transport allowing me to see them at a moment’s notice (at most, 2 hours).

But would there ever be another extended period (18 years long) where they would be based out of our home? I mean, if we did it right, hopefully not.  Hopefully we will have given them the wings to fly and now they were going to show us what they could do. But that didn’t change the mourning for me. My excitement was tempered by so many emotions, most of all nostalgia. 

What I imagine it will feel like hugging my two cubs the next time I see them

As I write this, it’s been five weeks since they have left. I still find myself tearing up when my iPhone displays pictures of them (Apple products really know how to sprinkle salt into my fresh wounds). But really, it’s a hurt that I relish.  Not because I’m a masochist.  No- I just love feeling my LOVE for them. And when I’m

reminded of it, it hurts but it is a hurt that makes me feel alive and reminds me I have one of the best jobs in the world, being their mother.